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| author | Git automation user <git> | 2025-06-24 12:22:01 -0700 |
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| committer | Git automation user <git> | 2025-06-24 12:22:01 -0700 |
| commit | 6d0b6f2de2bb6ee4dab302bca675a0d2ae22b9fb (patch) | |
| tree | bfb7851c21fdcb48bdc939245c5d8b4d488067b3 | |
Update for 730
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 730-0.txt | 18816 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 730-h/730-h.htm | 25471 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 12 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 3 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/730-0.txt b/730-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6a0b392 --- /dev/null +++ b/730-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,18816 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 730 *** + + + + +Oliver Twist + +OR +THE PARISH BOY’S PROGRESS + +by Charles Dickens + + +Contents + +I TREATS OF THE PLACE WHERE OLIVER TWIST WAS BORN AND OF THE + CIRCUMSTANCES ATTENDING HIS BIRTH +II TREATS OF OLIVER TWIST’S GROWTH, EDUCATION, AND BOARD +III RELATES HOW OLIVER TWIST WAS VERY NEAR GETTING A PLACE WHICH + WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN A SINECURE +IV OLIVER, BEING OFFERED ANOTHER PLACE, MAKES HIS FIRST ENTRY + INTO PUBLIC LIFE +V OLIVER MINGLES WITH NEW ASSOCIATES. GOING TO A FUNERAL FOR THE + FIRST TIME, HE FORMS AN UNFAVOURABLE NOTION OF HIS MASTER’S + BUSINESS +VI OLIVER, BEING GOADED BY THE TAUNTS OF NOAH, ROUSES INTO + ACTION, AND RATHER ASTONISHES HIM +VII OLIVER CONTINUES REFRACTORY +VIII OLIVER WALKS TO LONDON. HE ENCOUNTERS ON THE ROAD A STRANGE + SORT OF YOUNG GENTLEMAN +IX CONTAINING FURTHER PARTICULARS CONCERNING THE PLEASANT OLD + GENTLEMAN, AND HIS HOPEFUL PUPILS +X OLIVER BECOMES BETTER ACQUAINTED WITH THE CHARACTERS OF HIS + NEW ASSOCIATES; AND PURCHASES EXPERIENCE AT A HIGH PRICE. + BEING A SHORT, BUT VERY IMPORTANT CHAPTER, IN THIS HISTORY +XI TREATS OF MR. FANG THE POLICE MAGISTRATE; AND FURNISHES A + SLIGHT SPECIMEN OF HIS MODE OF ADMINISTERING JUSTICE +XII IN WHICH OLIVER IS TAKEN BETTER CARE OF THAN HE EVER WAS + BEFORE. AND IN WHICH THE NARRATIVE REVERTS TO THE MERRY OLD + GENTLEMAN AND HIS YOUTHFUL FRIENDS. +XIII SOME NEW ACQUAINTANCES ARE INTRODUCED TO THE INTELLIGENT + READER, CONNECTED WITH WHOM VARIOUS PLEASANT MATTERS ARE + RELATED, APPERTAINING TO THIS HISTORY +XIV COMPRISING FURTHER PARTICULARS OF OLIVER’S STAY AT MR. + BROWNLOW’S, WITH THE REMARKABLE PREDICTION WHICH ONE MR. + GRIMWIG UTTERED CONCERNING HIM, WHEN HE WENT OUT ON AN ERRAND +XV SHOWING HOW VERY FOND OF OLIVER TWIST, THE MERRY OLD JEW AND + MISS NANCY WERE +XVI RELATES WHAT BECAME OF OLIVER TWIST, AFTER HE HAD BEEN CLAIMED + BY NANCY +XVII OLIVER’S DESTINY CONTINUING UNPROPITIOUS, BRINGS A GREAT MAN + TO LONDON TO INJURE HIS REPUTATION +XVIII HOW OLIVER PASSED HIS TIME IN THE IMPROVING SOCIETY OF HIS + REPUTABLE FRIENDS +XIX IN WHICH A NOTABLE PLAN IS DISCUSSED AND DETERMINED ON +XX WHEREIN OLIVER IS DELIVERED OVER TO MR. WILLIAM SIKES +XXI THE EXPEDITION +XXII THE BURGLARY +XXIII WHICH CONTAINS THE SUBSTANCE OF A PLEASANT CONVERSATION + BETWEEN MR. BUMBLE AND A LADY; AND SHOWS THAT EVEN A BEADLE + MAY BE SUSCEPTIBLE ON SOME POINTS +XXIV TREATS ON A VERY POOR SUBJECT, BUT IS A SHORT ONE, AND MAY BE + FOUND OF IMPORTANCE IN THIS HISTORY +XXV WHEREIN THIS HISTORY REVERTS TO MR. FAGIN AND COMPANY +XXVI IN WHICH A MYSTERIOUS CHARACTER APPEARS UPON THE SCENE; AND + MANY THINGS, INSEPARABLE FROM THIS HISTORY, ARE DONE AND + PERFORMED +XXVII ATONES FOR THE UNPOLITENESS OF A FORMER CHAPTER; WHICH + DESERTED A LADY, MOST UNCEREMONIOUSLY +XXVIII LOOKS AFTER OLIVER, AND PROCEEDS WITH HIS ADVENTURES +XXIX HAS AN INTRODUCTORY ACCOUNT OF THE INMATES OF THE HOUSE, TO + WHICH OLIVER RESORTED +XXX RELATES WHAT OLIVER’S NEW VISITORS THOUGHT OF HIM +XXXI INVOLVES A CRITICAL POSITION +XXXII OF THE HAPPY LIFE OLIVER BEGAN TO LEAD WITH HIS KIND FRIENDS +XXXIII WHEREIN THE HAPPINESS OF OLIVER AND HIS FRIENDS, EXPERIENCES A + SUDDEN CHECK +XXXIV CONTAINS SOME INTRODUCTORY PARTICULARS RELATIVE TO A YOUNG + GENTLEMAN WHO NOW ARRIVES UPON THE SCENE; AND A NEW ADVENTURE + WHICH HAPPENED TO OLIVER +XXXV CONTAINING THE UNSATISFACTORY RESULT OF OLIVER’S ADVENTURE; + AND A CONVERSATION OF SOME IMPORTANCE BETWEEN HARRY MAYLIE AND + ROSE +XXXVI IS A VERY SHORT ONE, AND MAY APPEAR OF NO GREAT IMPORTANCE IN + ITS PLACE, BUT IT SHOULD BE READ NOTWITHSTANDING, AS A SEQUEL + TO THE LAST, AND A KEY TO ONE THAT WILL FOLLOW WHEN ITS TIME + ARRIVES +XXXVII IN WHICH THE READER MAY PERCEIVE A CONTRAST, NOT UNCOMMON IN + MATRIMONIAL CASES +XXXVIII CONTAINING AN ACCOUNT OF WHAT PASSED BETWEEN MR. AND MRS. + BUMBLE, AND MR. MONKS, AT THEIR NOCTURNAL INTERVIEW +XXXIX INTRODUCES SOME RESPECTABLE CHARACTERS WITH WHOM THE READER IS + ALREADY ACQUAINTED, AND SHOWS HOW MONKS AND THE JEW LAID THEIR + WORTHY HEADS TOGETHER +XL A STRANGE INTERVIEW, WHICH IS A SEQUEL TO THE LAST CHAMBER +XLI CONTAINING FRESH DISCOVERIES, AND SHOWING THAT SUPRISES, LIKE + MISFORTUNES, SELDOM COME ALONE +XLII AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE OF OLIVER’S, EXHIBITING DECIDED MARKS OF + GENIUS, BECOMES A PUBLIC CHARACTER IN THE METROPOLIS +XLIII WHEREIN IS SHOWN HOW THE ARTFUL DODGER GOT INTO TROUBLE +XLIV THE TIME ARRIVES FOR NANCY TO REDEEM HER PLEDGE TO ROSE + MAYLIE. SHE FAILS. +XLV NOAH CLAYPOLE IS EMPLOYED BY FAGIN ON A SECRET MISSION +XLVI THE APPOINTMENT KEPT +XLVII FATAL CONSEQUENCES +XLVIII THE FLIGHT OF SIKES +XLIX MONKS AND MR. BROWNLOW AT LENGTH MEET. THEIR CONVERSATION, AND + THE INTELLIGENCE THAT INTERRUPTS IT +L THE PURSUIT AND ESCAPE +LI AFFORDING AN EXPLANATION OF MORE MYSTERIES THAN ONE, AND + COMPREHENDING A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE WITH NO WORD OF + SETTLEMENT OR PIN-MONEY +LII FAGIN’S LAST NIGHT ALIVE +LIII AND LAST + + + + + CHAPTER I. +TREATS OF THE PLACE WHERE OLIVER TWIST WAS BORN AND OF THE +CIRCUMSTANCES ATTENDING HIS BIRTH + + +Among other public buildings in a certain town, which for many reasons +it will be prudent to refrain from mentioning, and to which I will +assign no fictitious name, there is one anciently common to most towns, +great or small: to wit, a workhouse; and in this workhouse was born; on +a day and date which I need not trouble myself to repeat, inasmuch as +it can be of no possible consequence to the reader, in this stage of +the business at all events; the item of mortality whose name is +prefixed to the head of this chapter. + +For a long time after it was ushered into this world of sorrow and +trouble, by the parish surgeon, it remained a matter of considerable +doubt whether the child would survive to bear any name at all; in which +case it is somewhat more than probable that these memoirs would never +have appeared; or, if they had, that being comprised within a couple of +pages, they would have possessed the inestimable merit of being the +most concise and faithful specimen of biography, extant in the +literature of any age or country. + +Although I am not disposed to maintain that being born in a workhouse, +is in itself the most fortunate and enviable circumstance that can +possibly befall a human being, I do mean to say that in this particular +instance, it was the best thing for Oliver Twist that could by +possibility have occurred. The fact is, that there was considerable +difficulty in inducing Oliver to take upon himself the office of +respiration,—a troublesome practice, but one which custom has rendered +necessary to our easy existence; and for some time he lay gasping on +a little flock mattress, rather unequally poised between this world +and the next: the balance being decidedly in favour of the latter. +Now, if, during this brief period, Oliver had been surrounded by +careful grandmothers, anxious aunts, experienced nurses, and doctors +of profound wisdom, he would most inevitably and indubitably have +been killed in no time. There being nobody by, however, but a pauper +old woman, who was rendered rather misty by an unwonted allowance of +beer; and a parish surgeon who did such matters by contract; Oliver +and Nature fought out the point between them. The result was, that, +after a few struggles, Oliver breathed, sneezed, and proceeded to +advertise to the inmates of the workhouse the fact of a new burden +having been imposed upon the parish, by setting up as loud a cry as +could reasonably have been expected from a male infant who had not been +possessed of that very useful appendage, a voice, for a much longer +space of time than three minutes and a quarter. + +As Oliver gave this first proof of the free and proper action of his +lungs, the patchwork coverlet which was carelessly flung over the iron +bedstead, rustled; the pale face of a young woman was raised feebly +from the pillow; and a faint voice imperfectly articulated the words, +“Let me see the child, and die.” + +The surgeon had been sitting with his face turned towards the fire: +giving the palms of his hands a warm and a rub alternately. As the +young woman spoke, he rose, and advancing to the bed’s head, said, with +more kindness than might have been expected of him: + +“Oh, you must not talk about dying yet.” + +“Lor bless her dear heart, no!” interposed the nurse, hastily +depositing in her pocket a green glass bottle, the contents of which +she had been tasting in a corner with evident satisfaction. + +“Lor bless her dear heart, when she has lived as long as I have, sir, +and had thirteen children of her own, and all on ’em dead except two, +and them in the wurkus with me, she’ll know better than to take on in +that way, bless her dear heart! Think what it is to be a mother, +there’s a dear young lamb, do.” + +Apparently this consolatory perspective of a mother’s prospects failed +in producing its due effect. The patient shook her head, and stretched +out her hand towards the child. + +The surgeon deposited it in her arms. She imprinted her cold white lips +passionately on its forehead; passed her hands over her face; gazed +wildly round; shuddered; fell back—and died. They chafed her breast, +hands, and temples; but the blood had stopped forever. They talked of +hope and comfort. They had been strangers too long. + +“It’s all over, Mrs. Thingummy!” said the surgeon at last. + +“Ah, poor dear, so it is!” said the nurse, picking up the cork of the +green bottle, which had fallen out on the pillow, as she stooped to +take up the child. “Poor dear!” + +“You needn’t mind sending up to me, if the child cries, nurse,” said +the surgeon, putting on his gloves with great deliberation. “It’s very +likely it _will_ be troublesome. Give it a little gruel if it is.” He +put on his hat, and, pausing by the bed-side on his way to the door, +added, “She was a good-looking girl, too; where did she come from?” + +“She was brought here last night,” replied the old woman, “by the +overseer’s order. She was found lying in the street. She had walked +some distance, for her shoes were worn to pieces; but where she came +from, or where she was going to, nobody knows.” + +The surgeon leaned over the body, and raised the left hand. “The old +story,” he said, shaking his head: “no wedding-ring, I see. Ah! +Good-night!” + +The medical gentleman walked away to dinner; and the nurse, having once +more applied herself to the green bottle, sat down on a low chair +before the fire, and proceeded to dress the infant. + +What an excellent example of the power of dress, young Oliver Twist +was! Wrapped in the blanket which had hitherto formed his only +covering, he might have been the child of a nobleman or a beggar; it +would have been hard for the haughtiest stranger to have assigned him +his proper station in society. But now that he was enveloped in the old +calico robes which had grown yellow in the same service, he was badged +and ticketed, and fell into his place at once—a parish child—the orphan +of a workhouse—the humble, half-starved drudge—to be cuffed and +buffeted through the world—despised by all, and pitied by none. + +Oliver cried lustily. If he could have known that he was an orphan, +left to the tender mercies of churchwardens and overseers, perhaps he +would have cried the louder. + + + + + CHAPTER II. +TREATS OF OLIVER TWIST’S GROWTH, EDUCATION, AND BOARD + + +For the next eight or ten months, Oliver was the victim of a systematic +course of treachery and deception. He was brought up by hand. The +hungry and destitute situation of the infant orphan was duly reported +by the workhouse authorities to the parish authorities. The parish +authorities inquired with dignity of the workhouse authorities, whether +there was no female then domiciled in “the house” who was in a +situation to impart to Oliver Twist, the consolation and nourishment of +which he stood in need. The workhouse authorities replied with +humility, that there was not. Upon this, the parish authorities +magnanimously and humanely resolved, that Oliver should be “farmed,” +or, in other words, that he should be dispatched to a branch-workhouse +some three miles off, where twenty or thirty other juvenile offenders +against the poor-laws, rolled about the floor all day, without the +inconvenience of too much food or too much clothing, under the parental +superintendence of an elderly female, who received the culprits at and +for the consideration of sevenpence-halfpenny per small head per week. +Sevenpence-halfpenny’s worth per week is a good round diet for a child; +a great deal may be got for sevenpence-halfpenny, quite enough to +overload its stomach, and make it uncomfortable. The elderly female was +a woman of wisdom and experience; she knew what was good for children; +and she had a very accurate perception of what was good for herself. +So, she appropriated the greater part of the weekly stipend to her own +use, and consigned the rising parochial generation to even a shorter +allowance than was originally provided for them. Thereby finding in the +lowest depth a deeper still; and proving herself a very great +experimental philosopher. + +Everybody knows the story of another experimental philosopher who had a +great theory about a horse being able to live without eating, and who +demonstrated it so well, that he had got his own horse down to a straw +a day, and would unquestionably have rendered him a very spirited and +rampacious animal on nothing at all, if he had not died, +four-and-twenty hours before he was to have had his first comfortable +bait of air. Unfortunately for the experimental philosophy of the +female to whose protecting care Oliver Twist was delivered over, a +similar result usually attended the operation of _her_ system; for at +the very moment when the child had contrived to exist upon the smallest +possible portion of the weakest possible food, it did perversely happen +in eight and a half cases out of ten, either that it sickened from want +and cold, or fell into the fire from neglect, or got half-smothered by +accident; in any one of which cases, the miserable little being was +usually summoned into another world, and there gathered to the fathers +it had never known in this. + +Occasionally, when there was some more than usually interesting inquest +upon a parish child who had been overlooked in turning up a bedstead, +or inadvertently scalded to death when there happened to be a +washing—though the latter accident was very scarce, anything +approaching to a washing being of rare occurrence in the farm—the jury +would take it into their heads to ask troublesome questions, or the +parishioners would rebelliously affix their signatures to a +remonstrance. But these impertinences were speedily checked by the +evidence of the surgeon, and the testimony of the beadle; the former of +whom had always opened the body and found nothing inside (which was +very probable indeed), and the latter of whom invariably swore whatever +the parish wanted; which was very self-devotional. Besides, the board +made periodical pilgrimages to the farm, and always sent the beadle the +day before, to say they were going. The children were neat and clean to +behold, when _they_ went; and what more would the people have! + +It cannot be expected that this system of farming would produce any +very extraordinary or luxuriant crop. Oliver Twist’s ninth birthday +found him a pale thin child, somewhat diminutive in stature, and +decidedly small in circumference. But nature or inheritance had +implanted a good sturdy spirit in Oliver’s breast. It had had plenty of +room to expand, thanks to the spare diet of the establishment; and +perhaps to this circumstance may be attributed his having any ninth +birth-day at all. Be this as it may, however, it was his ninth +birthday; and he was keeping it in the coal-cellar with a select party +of two other young gentleman, who, after participating with him in a +sound thrashing, had been locked up for atrociously presuming to be +hungry, when Mrs. Mann, the good lady of the house, was unexpectedly +startled by the apparition of Mr. Bumble, the beadle, striving to undo +the wicket of the garden-gate. + +“Goodness gracious! Is that you, Mr. Bumble, sir?” said Mrs. Mann, +thrusting her head out of the window in well-affected ecstasies of joy. +“(Susan, take Oliver and them two brats upstairs, and wash ’em +directly.)—My heart alive! Mr. Bumble, how glad I am to see you, +sure-ly!” + +Now, Mr. Bumble was a fat man, and a choleric; so, instead of +responding to this open-hearted salutation in a kindred spirit, he gave +the little wicket a tremendous shake, and then bestowed upon it a kick +which could have emanated from no leg but a beadle’s. + +“Lor, only think,” said Mrs. Mann, running out,—for the three boys had +been removed by this time,—“only think of that! That I should have +forgotten that the gate was bolted on the inside, on account of them +dear children! Walk in sir; walk in, pray, Mr. Bumble, do, sir.” + +Although this invitation was accompanied with a curtsey that might have +softened the heart of a churchwarden, it by no means mollified the +beadle. + +“Do you think this respectful or proper conduct, Mrs. Mann,” inquired +Mr. Bumble, grasping his cane, “to keep the parish officers a waiting +at your garden-gate, when they come here upon porochial business with +the porochial orphans? Are you aweer, Mrs. Mann, that you are, as I may +say, a porochial delegate, and a stipendiary?” + +“I’m sure Mr. Bumble, that I was only a telling one or two of the dear +children as is so fond of you, that it was you a coming,” replied Mrs. +Mann with great humility. + +Mr. Bumble had a great idea of his oratorical powers and his +importance. He had displayed the one, and vindicated the other. He +relaxed. + +“Well, well, Mrs. Mann,” he replied in a calmer tone; “it may be as you +say; it may be. Lead the way in, Mrs. Mann, for I come on business, and +have something to say.” + +Mrs. Mann ushered the beadle into a small parlour with a brick floor; +placed a seat for him; and officiously deposited his cocked hat and +cane on the table before him. Mr. Bumble wiped from his forehead the +perspiration which his walk had engendered, glanced complacently at the +cocked hat, and smiled. Yes, he smiled. Beadles are but men: and Mr. +Bumble smiled. + +“Now don’t you be offended at what I’m a going to say,” observed Mrs. +Mann, with captivating sweetness. “You’ve had a long walk, you know, or +I wouldn’t mention it. Now, will you take a little drop of somethink, +Mr. Bumble?” + +“Not a drop. Nor a drop,” said Mr. Bumble, waving his right hand in a +dignified, but placid manner. + +“I think you will,” said Mrs. Mann, who had noticed the tone of the +refusal, and the gesture that had accompanied it. “Just a leetle drop, +with a little cold water, and a lump of sugar.” + +Mr. Bumble coughed. + +“Now, just a leetle drop,” said Mrs. Mann persuasively. + +“What is it?” inquired the beadle. + +“Why, it’s what I’m obliged to keep a little of in the house, to put +into the blessed infants’ Daffy, when they ain’t well, Mr. Bumble,” +replied Mrs. Mann as she opened a corner cupboard, and took down a +bottle and glass. “It’s gin. I’ll not deceive you, Mr. B. It’s gin.” + +“Do you give the children Daffy, Mrs. Mann?” inquired Bumble, following +with his eyes the interesting process of mixing. + +“Ah, bless ’em, that I do, dear as it is,” replied the nurse. “I +couldn’t see ’em suffer before my very eyes, you know sir.” + +“No”; said Mr. Bumble approvingly; “no, you could not. You are a humane +woman, Mrs. Mann.” (Here she set down the glass.) “I shall take a early +opportunity of mentioning it to the board, Mrs. Mann.” (He drew it +towards him.) “You feel as a mother, Mrs. Mann.” (He stirred the +gin-and-water.) “I—I drink your health with cheerfulness, Mrs. Mann”; +and he swallowed half of it. + +“And now about business,” said the beadle, taking out a leathern +pocket-book. “The child that was half-baptized Oliver Twist, is nine +year old today.” + +“Bless him!” interposed Mrs. Mann, inflaming her left eye with the +corner of her apron. + +“And notwithstanding a offered reward of ten pound, which was +afterwards increased to twenty pound. Notwithstanding the most +superlative, and, I may say, supernat’ral exertions on the part of this +parish,” said Bumble, “we have never been able to discover who is his +father, or what was his mother’s settlement, name, or condition.” + +Mrs. Mann raised her hands in astonishment; but added, after a moment’s +reflection, “How comes he to have any name at all, then?” + +The beadle drew himself up with great pride, and said, “I inwented it.” + +“You, Mr. Bumble!” + +“I, Mrs. Mann. We name our fondlings in alphabetical order. The last +was a S,—Swubble, I named him. This was a T,—Twist, I named _him_. The +next one comes will be Unwin, and the next Vilkins. I have got names +ready made to the end of the alphabet, and all the way through it +again, when we come to Z.” + +“Why, you’re quite a literary character, sir!” said Mrs. Mann. + +“Well, well,” said the beadle, evidently gratified with the compliment; +“perhaps I may be. Perhaps I may be, Mrs. Mann.” He finished the +gin-and-water, and added, “Oliver being now too old to remain here, the +board have determined to have him back into the house. I have come out +myself to take him there. So let me see him at once.” + +“I’ll fetch him directly,” said Mrs. Mann, leaving the room for that +purpose. Oliver, having had by this time as much of the outer coat of +dirt which encrusted his face and hands, removed, as could be scrubbed +off in one washing, was led into the room by his benevolent +protectress. + +“Make a bow to the gentleman, Oliver,” said Mrs. Mann. + +Oliver made a bow, which was divided between the beadle on the chair, +and the cocked hat on the table. + +“Will you go along with me, Oliver?” said Mr. Bumble, in a majestic +voice. + +Oliver was about to say that he would go along with anybody with great +readiness, when, glancing upward, he caught sight of Mrs. Mann, who had +got behind the beadle’s chair, and was shaking her fist at him with a +furious countenance. He took the hint at once, for the fist had been +too often impressed upon his body not to be deeply impressed upon his +recollection. + +“Will she go with me?” inquired poor Oliver. + +“No, she can’t,” replied Mr. Bumble. “But she’ll come and see you +sometimes.” + +This was no very great consolation to the child. Young as he was, +however, he had sense enough to make a feint of feeling great regret at +going away. It was no very difficult matter for the boy to call tears +into his eyes. Hunger and recent ill-usage are great assistants if you +want to cry; and Oliver cried very naturally indeed. Mrs. Mann gave him +a thousand embraces, and what Oliver wanted a great deal more, a piece +of bread and butter, lest he should seem too hungry when he got to the +workhouse. With the slice of bread in his hand, and the little +brown-cloth parish cap on his head, Oliver was then led away by Mr. +Bumble from the wretched home where one kind word or look had never +lighted the gloom of his infant years. And yet he burst into an agony +of childish grief, as the cottage-gate closed after him. Wretched as +were the little companions in misery he was leaving behind, they were +the only friends he had ever known; and a sense of his loneliness in +the great wide world, sank into the child’s heart for the first time. + +Mr. Bumble walked on with long strides; little Oliver, firmly grasping +his gold-laced cuff, trotted beside him, inquiring at the end of every +quarter of a mile whether they were “nearly there.” To these +interrogations Mr. Bumble returned very brief and snappish replies; for +the temporary blandness which gin-and-water awakens in some bosoms had +by this time evaporated; and he was once again a beadle. + +Oliver had not been within the walls of the workhouse a quarter of an +hour, and had scarcely completed the demolition of a second slice of +bread, when Mr. Bumble, who had handed him over to the care of an old +woman, returned; and, telling him it was a board night, informed him +that the board had said he was to appear before it forthwith. + +Not having a very clearly defined notion of what a live board was, +Oliver was rather astounded by this intelligence, and was not quite +certain whether he ought to laugh or cry. He had no time to think about +the matter, however; for Mr. Bumble gave him a tap on the head, with +his cane, to wake him up: and another on the back to make him lively: +and bidding him to follow, conducted him into a large white-washed +room, where eight or ten fat gentlemen were sitting round a table. At +the top of the table, seated in an arm-chair rather higher than the +rest, was a particularly fat gentleman with a very round, red face. + +“Bow to the board,” said Bumble. Oliver brushed away two or three tears +that were lingering in his eyes; and seeing no board but the table, +fortunately bowed to that. + +“What’s your name, boy?” said the gentleman in the high chair. + +Oliver was frightened at the sight of so many gentlemen, which made him +tremble: and the beadle gave him another tap behind, which made him +cry. These two causes made him answer in a very low and hesitating +voice; whereupon a gentleman in a white waistcoat said he was a fool. +Which was a capital way of raising his spirits, and putting him quite +at his ease. + +“Boy,” said the gentleman in the high chair, “listen to me. You know +you’re an orphan, I suppose?” + +“What’s that, sir?” inquired poor Oliver. + +“The boy _is_ a fool—I thought he was,” said the gentleman in the white +waistcoat. + +“Hush!” said the gentleman who had spoken first. “You know you’ve got +no father or mother, and that you were brought up by the parish, don’t +you?” + +“Yes, sir,” replied Oliver, weeping bitterly. + +“What are you crying for?” inquired the gentleman in the white +waistcoat. And to be sure it was very extraordinary. What _could_ the +boy be crying for? + +“I hope you say your prayers every night,” said another gentleman in a +gruff voice; “and pray for the people who feed you, and take care of +you—like a Christian.” + +“Yes, sir,” stammered the boy. The gentleman who spoke last was +unconsciously right. It would have been very like a Christian, and a +marvellously good Christian too, if Oliver had prayed for the people +who fed and took care of _him_. But he hadn’t, because nobody had +taught him. + +“Well! You have come here to be educated, and taught a useful trade,” +said the red-faced gentleman in the high chair. + +“So you’ll begin to pick oakum tomorrow morning at six o’clock,” added +the surly one in the white waistcoat. + +For the combination of both these blessings in the one simple process +of picking oakum, Oliver bowed low by the direction of the beadle, and +was then hurried away to a large ward; where, on a rough, hard bed, he +sobbed himself to sleep. What a novel illustration of the tender laws +of England! They let the paupers go to sleep! + +Poor Oliver! He little thought, as he lay sleeping in happy +unconsciousness of all around him, that the board had that very day +arrived at a decision which would exercise the most material influence +over all his future fortunes. But they had. And this was it: + +The members of this board were very sage, deep, philosophical men; and +when they came to turn their attention to the workhouse, they found out +at once, what ordinary folks would never have discovered—the poor +people liked it! It was a regular place of public entertainment for the +poorer classes; a tavern where there was nothing to pay; a public +breakfast, dinner, tea, and supper all the year round; a brick and +mortar elysium, where it was all play and no work. “Oho!” said the +board, looking very knowing; “we are the fellows to set this to rights; +we’ll stop it all, in no time.” So, they established the rule, that all +poor people should have the alternative (for they would compel nobody, +not they), of being starved by a gradual process in the house, or by a +quick one out of it. With this view, they contracted with the +water-works to lay on an unlimited supply of water; and with a +corn-factory to supply periodically small quantities of oatmeal; and +issued three meals of thin gruel a day, with an onion twice a week, and +half a roll of Sundays. They made a great many other wise and humane +regulations, having reference to the ladies, which it is not necessary +to repeat; kindly undertook to divorce poor married people, in +consequence of the great expense of a suit in Doctors’ Commons; and, +instead of compelling a man to support his family, as they had +theretofore done, took his family away from him, and made him a +bachelor! There is no saying how many applicants for relief, under +these last two heads, might have started up in all classes of society, +if it had not been coupled with the workhouse; but the board were +long-headed men, and had provided for this difficulty. The relief was +inseparable from the workhouse and the gruel; and that frightened +people. + +For the first six months after Oliver Twist was removed, the system was +in full operation. It was rather expensive at first, in consequence of +the increase in the undertaker’s bill, and the necessity of taking in +the clothes of all the paupers, which fluttered loosely on their +wasted, shrunken forms, after a week or two’s gruel. But the number of +workhouse inmates got thin as well as the paupers; and the board were +in ecstasies. + +The room in which the boys were fed, was a large stone hall, with a +copper at one end: out of which the master, dressed in an apron for the +purpose, and assisted by one or two women, ladled the gruel at +mealtimes. Of this festive composition each boy had one porringer, and +no more—except on occasions of great public rejoicing, when he had two +ounces and a quarter of bread besides. + +The bowls never wanted washing. The boys polished them with their +spoons till they shone again; and when they had performed this +operation (which never took very long, the spoons being nearly as large +as the bowls), they would sit staring at the copper, with such eager +eyes, as if they could have devoured the very bricks of which it was +composed; employing themselves, meanwhile, in sucking their fingers +most assiduously, with the view of catching up any stray splashes of +gruel that might have been cast thereon. Boys have generally excellent +appetites. Oliver Twist and his companions suffered the tortures of +slow starvation for three months: at last they got so voracious and +wild with hunger, that one boy, who was tall for his age, and hadn’t +been used to that sort of thing (for his father had kept a small +cook-shop), hinted darkly to his companions, that unless he had another +basin of gruel per diem, he was afraid he might some night happen to +eat the boy who slept next him, who happened to be a weakly youth of +tender age. He had a wild, hungry eye; and they implicitly believed +him. A council was held; lots were cast who should walk up to the +master after supper that evening, and ask for more; and it fell to +Oliver Twist. + +The evening arrived; the boys took their places. The master, in his +cook’s uniform, stationed himself at the copper; his pauper assistants +ranged themselves behind him; the gruel was served out; and a long +grace was said over the short commons. The gruel disappeared; the boys +whispered each other, and winked at Oliver; while his next neighbors +nudged him. Child as he was, he was desperate with hunger, and reckless +with misery. He rose from the table; and advancing to the master, basin +and spoon in hand, said: somewhat alarmed at his own temerity: + +“Please, sir, I want some more.” + +The master was a fat, healthy man; but he turned very pale. He gazed in +stupefied astonishment on the small rebel for some seconds, and then +clung for support to the copper. The assistants were paralysed with +wonder; the boys with fear. + +“What!” said the master at length, in a faint voice. + +“Please, sir,” replied Oliver, “I want some more.” + +The master aimed a blow at Oliver’s head with the ladle; pinioned him +in his arm; and shrieked aloud for the beadle. + +The board were sitting in solemn conclave, when Mr. Bumble rushed into +the room in great excitement, and addressing the gentleman in the high +chair, said, + +“Mr. Limbkins, I beg your pardon, sir! Oliver Twist has asked for +more!” + +There was a general start. Horror was depicted on every countenance. + +“For _more_!” said Mr. Limbkins. “Compose yourself, Bumble, and answer +me distinctly. Do I understand that he asked for more, after he had +eaten the supper allotted by the dietary?” + +“He did, sir,” replied Bumble. + +“That boy will be hung,” said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. “I +know that boy will be hung.” + +Nobody controverted the prophetic gentleman’s opinion. An animated +discussion took place. Oliver was ordered into instant confinement; and +a bill was next morning pasted on the outside of the gate, offering a +reward of five pounds to anybody who would take Oliver Twist off the +hands of the parish. In other words, five pounds and Oliver Twist were +offered to any man or woman who wanted an apprentice to any trade, +business, or calling. + +“I never was more convinced of anything in my life,” said the gentleman +in the white waistcoat, as he knocked at the gate and read the bill +next morning: “I never was more convinced of anything in my life, than +I am that that boy will come to be hung.” + +As I purpose to show in the sequel whether the white waistcoated +gentleman was right or not, I should perhaps mar the interest of this +narrative (supposing it to possess any at all), if I ventured to hint +just yet, whether the life of Oliver Twist had this violent termination +or no. + + + + + CHAPTER III. +RELATES HOW OLIVER TWIST WAS VERY NEAR GETTING A PLACE WHICH WOULD NOT +HAVE BEEN A SINECURE + + +For a week after the commission of the impious and profane offence of +asking for more, Oliver remained a close prisoner in the dark and +solitary room to which he had been consigned by the wisdom and mercy of +the board. It appears, at first sight not unreasonable to suppose, +that, if he had entertained a becoming feeling of respect for the +prediction of the gentleman in the white waistcoat, he would have +established that sage individual’s prophetic character, once and for +ever, by tying one end of his pocket-handkerchief to a hook in the +wall, and attaching himself to the other. To the performance of this +feat, however, there was one obstacle: namely, that +pocket-handkerchiefs being decided articles of luxury, had been, for +all future times and ages, removed from the noses of paupers by the +express order of the board, in council assembled: solemnly given and +pronounced under their hands and seals. There was a still greater +obstacle in Oliver’s youth and childishness. He only cried bitterly all +day; and, when the long, dismal night came on, spread his little hands +before his eyes to shut out the darkness, and crouching in the corner, +tried to sleep: ever and anon waking with a start and tremble, and +drawing himself closer and closer to the wall, as if to feel even its +cold hard surface were a protection in the gloom and loneliness which +surrounded him. + +Let it not be supposed by the enemies of “the system,” that, during the +period of his solitary incarceration, Oliver was denied the benefit of +exercise, the pleasure of society, or the advantages of religious +consolation. As for exercise, it was nice cold weather, and he was +allowed to perform his ablutions every morning under the pump, in a +stone yard, in the presence of Mr. Bumble, who prevented his catching +cold, and caused a tingling sensation to pervade his frame, by repeated +applications of the cane. As for society, he was carried every other +day into the hall where the boys dined, and there sociably flogged as a +public warning and example. And so far from being denied the advantages +of religious consolation, he was kicked into the same apartment every +evening at prayer-time, and there permitted to listen to, and console +his mind with, a general supplication of the boys, containing a special +clause, therein inserted by authority of the board, in which they +entreated to be made good, virtuous, contented, and obedient, and to be +guarded from the sins and vices of Oliver Twist: whom the supplication +distinctly set forth to be under the exclusive patronage and protection +of the powers of wickedness, and an article direct from the manufactory +of the very Devil himself. + +It chanced one morning, while Oliver’s affairs were in this auspicious +and comfortable state, that Mr. Gamfield, chimney-sweep, went his way +down the High Street, deeply cogitating in his mind his ways and means +of paying certain arrears of rent, for which his landlord had become +rather pressing. Mr. Gamfield’s most sanguine estimate of his finances +could not raise them within full five pounds of the desired amount; +and, in a species of arithmetical desperation, he was alternately +cudgelling his brains and his donkey, when passing the workhouse, his +eyes encountered the bill on the gate. + +“Wo—o!” said Mr. Gamfield to the donkey. + +The donkey was in a state of profound abstraction: wondering, probably, +whether he was destined to be regaled with a cabbage-stalk or two when +he had disposed of the two sacks of soot with which the little cart was +laden; so, without noticing the word of command, he jogged onward. + +Mr. Gamfield growled a fierce imprecation on the donkey generally, but +more particularly on his eyes; and, running after him, bestowed a blow +on his head, which would inevitably have beaten in any skull but a +donkey’s. Then, catching hold of the bridle, he gave his jaw a sharp +wrench, by way of gentle reminder that he was not his own master; and +by these means turned him round. He then gave him another blow on the +head, just to stun him till he came back again. Having completed these +arrangements, he walked up to the gate, to read the bill. + +The gentleman with the white waistcoat was standing at the gate with +his hands behind him, after having delivered himself of some profound +sentiments in the board-room. Having witnessed the little dispute +between Mr. Gamfield and the donkey, he smiled joyously when that +person came up to read the bill, for he saw at once that Mr. Gamfield +was exactly the sort of master Oliver Twist wanted. Mr. Gamfield +smiled, too, as he perused the document; for five pounds was just the +sum he had been wishing for; and, as to the boy with which it was +encumbered, Mr. Gamfield, knowing what the dietary of the workhouse +was, well knew he would be a nice small pattern, just the very thing +for register stoves. So, he spelt the bill through again, from +beginning to end; and then, touching his fur cap in token of humility, +accosted the gentleman in the white waistcoat. + +“This here boy, sir, wot the parish wants to ’prentis,” said Mr. +Gamfield. + +“Ay, my man,” said the gentleman in the white waistcoat, with a +condescending smile. “What of him?” + +“If the parish vould like him to learn a right pleasant trade, in a +good ’spectable chimbley-sweepin’ bisness,” said Mr. Gamfield, “I wants +a ’prentis, and I am ready to take him.” + +“Walk in,” said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. Mr. Gamfield +having lingered behind, to give the donkey another blow on the head, +and another wrench of the jaw, as a caution not to run away in his +absence, followed the gentleman with the white waistcoat into the room +where Oliver had first seen him. + +“It’s a nasty trade,” said Mr. Limbkins, when Gamfield had again stated +his wish. + +“Young boys have been smothered in chimneys before now,” said another +gentleman. + +“That’s acause they damped the straw afore they lit it in the chimbley +to make ’em come down again,” said Gamfield; “that’s all smoke, and no +blaze; vereas smoke ain’t o’ no use at all in making a boy come down, +for it only sinds him to sleep, and that’s wot he likes. Boys is wery +obstinit, and wery lazy, Gen’l’men, and there’s nothink like a good hot +blaze to make ’em come down vith a run. It’s humane too, gen’l’men, +acause, even if they’ve stuck in the chimbley, roasting their feet +makes ’em struggle to hextricate theirselves.” + +The gentleman in the white waistcoat appeared very much amused by this +explanation; but his mirth was speedily checked by a look from Mr. +Limbkins. The board then proceeded to converse among themselves for a +few minutes, but in so low a tone, that the words “saving of +expenditure,” “looked well in the accounts,” “have a printed report +published,” were alone audible. These only chanced to be heard, indeed, +on account of their being very frequently repeated with great emphasis. + +At length the whispering ceased; and the members of the board, having +resumed their seats and their solemnity, Mr. Limbkins said: + +“We have considered your proposition, and we don’t approve of it.” + +“Not at all,” said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. + +“Decidedly not,” added the other members. + +As Mr. Gamfield did happen to labour under the slight imputation of +having bruised three or four boys to death already, it occurred to him +that the board had, perhaps, in some unaccountable freak, taken it into +their heads that this extraneous circumstance ought to influence their +proceedings. It was very unlike their general mode of doing business, +if they had; but still, as he had no particular wish to revive the +rumour, he twisted his cap in his hands, and walked slowly from the +table. + +“So you won’t let me have him, gen’l’men?” said Mr. Gamfield, pausing +near the door. + +“No,” replied Mr. Limbkins; “at least, as it’s a nasty business, we +think you ought to take something less than the premium we offered.” + +Mr. Gamfield’s countenance brightened, as, with a quick step, he +returned to the table, and said, + +“What’ll you give, gen’l’men? Come! Don’t be too hard on a poor man. +What’ll you give?” + +“I should say, three pound ten was plenty,” said Mr. Limbkins. + +“Ten shillings too much,” said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. + +“Come!” said Gamfield; “say four pound, gen’l’men. Say four pound, and +you’ve got rid of him for good and all. There!” + +“Three pound ten,” repeated Mr. Limbkins, firmly. + +“Come! I’ll split the diff’erence, gen’l’men,” urged Gamfield. “Three +pound fifteen.” + +“Not a farthing more,” was the firm reply of Mr. Limbkins. + +“You’re desperate hard upon me, gen’l’men,” said Gamfield, wavering. + +“Pooh! pooh! nonsense!” said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. +“He’d be cheap with nothing at all, as a premium. Take him, you silly +fellow! He’s just the boy for you. He wants the stick, now and then: +it’ll do him good; and his board needn’t come very expensive, for he +hasn’t been overfed since he was born. Ha! ha! ha!” + +Mr. Gamfield gave an arch look at the faces round the table, and, +observing a smile on all of them, gradually broke into a smile himself. +The bargain was made. Mr. Bumble, was at once instructed that Oliver +Twist and his indentures were to be conveyed before the magistrate, for +signature and approval, that very afternoon. + +In pursuance of this determination, little Oliver, to his excessive +astonishment, was released from bondage, and ordered to put himself +into a clean shirt. He had hardly achieved this very unusual gymnastic +performance, when Mr. Bumble brought him, with his own hands, a basin +of gruel, and the holiday allowance of two ounces and a quarter of +bread. At this tremendous sight, Oliver began to cry very piteously: +thinking, not unnaturally, that the board must have determined to kill +him for some useful purpose, or they never would have begun to fatten +him up in that way. + +“Don’t make your eyes red, Oliver, but eat your food and be thankful,” +said Mr. Bumble, in a tone of impressive pomposity. “You’re a going to +be made a ’prentice of, Oliver.” + +“A prentice, sir!” said the child, trembling. + +“Yes, Oliver,” said Mr. Bumble. “The kind and blessed gentleman which +is so many parents to you, Oliver, when you have none of your own: are +a going to “prentice” you: and to set you up in life, and make a man of +you: although the expense to the parish is three pound ten!—three pound +ten, Oliver!—seventy shillins—one hundred and forty sixpences!—and all +for a naughty orphan which nobody can’t love.” + +As Mr. Bumble paused to take breath, after delivering this address in +an awful voice, the tears rolled down the poor child’s face, and he +sobbed bitterly. + +“Come,” said Mr. Bumble, somewhat less pompously, for it was gratifying +to his feelings to observe the effect his eloquence had produced; +“Come, Oliver! Wipe your eyes with the cuffs of your jacket, and don’t +cry into your gruel; that’s a very foolish action, Oliver.” It +certainly was, for there was quite enough water in it already. + +On their way to the magistrate, Mr. Bumble instructed Oliver that all +he would have to do, would be to look very happy, and say, when the +gentleman asked him if he wanted to be apprenticed, that he should like +it very much indeed; both of which injunctions Oliver promised to obey: +the rather as Mr. Bumble threw in a gentle hint, that if he failed in +either particular, there was no telling what would be done to him. When +they arrived at the office, he was shut up in a little room by himself, +and admonished by Mr. Bumble to stay there, until he came back to fetch +him. + +There the boy remained, with a palpitating heart, for half an hour. At +the expiration of which time Mr. Bumble thrust in his head, unadorned +with the cocked hat, and said aloud: + +“Now, Oliver, my dear, come to the gentleman.” As Mr. Bumble said this, +he put on a grim and threatening look, and added, in a low voice, “Mind +what I told you, you young rascal!” + +Oliver stared innocently in Mr. Bumble’s face at this somewhat +contradictory style of address; but that gentleman prevented his +offering any remark thereupon, by leading him at once into an adjoining +room: the door of which was open. It was a large room, with a great +window. Behind a desk, sat two old gentleman with powdered heads: one +of whom was reading the newspaper; while the other was perusing, with +the aid of a pair of tortoise-shell spectacles, a small piece of +parchment which lay before him. Mr. Limbkins was standing in front of +the desk on one side; and Mr. Gamfield, with a partially washed face, +on the other; while two or three bluff-looking men, in top-boots, were +lounging about. + +The old gentleman with the spectacles gradually dozed off, over the +little bit of parchment; and there was a short pause, after Oliver had +been stationed by Mr. Bumble in front of the desk. + +“This is the boy, your worship,” said Mr. Bumble. + +The old gentleman who was reading the newspaper raised his head for a +moment, and pulled the other old gentleman by the sleeve; whereupon, +the last-mentioned old gentleman woke up. + +“Oh, is this the boy?” said the old gentleman. + +“This is him, sir,” replied Mr. Bumble. “Bow to the magistrate, my +dear.” + +Oliver roused himself, and made his best obeisance. He had been +wondering, with his eyes fixed on the magistrates’ powder, whether all +boards were born with that white stuff on their heads, and were boards +from thenceforth on that account. + +“Well,” said the old gentleman, “I suppose he’s fond of +chimney-sweeping?” + +“He doats on it, your worship,” replied Bumble; giving Oliver a sly +pinch, to intimate that he had better not say he didn’t. + +“And he _will_ be a sweep, will he?” inquired the old gentleman. + +“If we was to bind him to any other trade tomorrow, he’d run away +simultaneous, your worship,” replied Bumble. + +“And this man that’s to be his master—you, sir—you’ll treat him well, +and feed him, and do all that sort of thing, will you?” said the old +gentleman. + +“When I says I will, I means I will,” replied Mr. Gamfield doggedly. + +“You’re a rough speaker, my friend, but you look an honest, +open-hearted man,” said the old gentleman: turning his spectacles in +the direction of the candidate for Oliver’s premium, whose villainous +countenance was a regular stamped receipt for cruelty. But the +magistrate was half blind and half childish, so he couldn’t reasonably +be expected to discern what other people did. + +“I hope I am, sir,” said Mr. Gamfield, with an ugly leer. + +“I have no doubt you are, my friend,” replied the old gentleman: fixing +his spectacles more firmly on his nose, and looking about him for the +inkstand. + +It was the critical moment of Oliver’s fate. If the inkstand had been +where the old gentleman thought it was, he would have dipped his pen +into it, and signed the indentures, and Oliver would have been +straightway hurried off. But, as it chanced to be immediately under his +nose, it followed, as a matter of course, that he looked all over his +desk for it, without finding it; and happening in the course of his +search to look straight before him, his gaze encountered the pale and +terrified face of Oliver Twist: who, despite all the admonitory looks +and pinches of Bumble, was regarding the repulsive countenance of his +future master, with a mingled expression of horror and fear, too +palpable to be mistaken, even by a half-blind magistrate. + +The old gentleman stopped, laid down his pen, and looked from Oliver to +Mr. Limbkins; who attempted to take snuff with a cheerful and +unconcerned aspect. + +“My boy!” said the old gentleman, “you look pale and alarmed. What is +the matter?” + +“Stand a little away from him, Beadle,” said the other magistrate: +laying aside the paper, and leaning forward with an expression of +interest. “Now, boy, tell us what’s the matter: don’t be afraid.” + +Oliver fell on his knees, and clasping his hands together, prayed that +they would order him back to the dark room—that they would starve +him—beat him—kill him if they pleased—rather than send him away with +that dreadful man. + +“Well!” said Mr. Bumble, raising his hands and eyes with most +impressive solemnity. “Well! of all the artful and designing orphans +that ever I see, Oliver, you are one of the most bare-facedest.” + +“Hold your tongue, Beadle,” said the second old gentleman, when Mr. +Bumble had given vent to this compound adjective. + +“I beg your worship’s pardon,” said Mr. Bumble, incredulous of having +heard aright. “Did your worship speak to me?” + +“Yes. Hold your tongue.” + +Mr. Bumble was stupefied with astonishment. A beadle ordered to hold +his tongue! A moral revolution! + +The old gentleman in the tortoise-shell spectacles looked at his +companion, he nodded significantly. + +“We refuse to sanction these indentures,” said the old gentleman: +tossing aside the piece of parchment as he spoke. + +“I hope,” stammered Mr. Limbkins: “I hope the magistrates will not form +the opinion that the authorities have been guilty of any improper +conduct, on the unsupported testimony of a child.” + +“The magistrates are not called upon to pronounce any opinion on the +matter,” said the second old gentleman sharply. “Take the boy back to +the workhouse, and treat him kindly. He seems to want it.” + +That same evening, the gentleman in the white waistcoat most positively +and decidedly affirmed, not only that Oliver would be hung, but that he +would be drawn and quartered into the bargain. Mr. Bumble shook his +head with gloomy mystery, and said he wished he might come to good; +whereunto Mr. Gamfield replied, that he wished he might come to him; +which, although he agreed with the beadle in most matters, would seem +to be a wish of a totally opposite description. + +The next morning, the public were once informed that Oliver Twist was +again to let, and that five pounds would be paid to anybody who would +take possession of him. + + + + + CHAPTER IV. +OLIVER, BEING OFFERED ANOTHER PLACE, MAKES HIS FIRST ENTRY INTO PUBLIC +LIFE + + +In great families, when an advantageous place cannot be obtained, +either in possession, reversion, remainder, or expectancy, for the +young man who is growing up, it is a very general custom to send him to +sea. The board, in imitation of so wise and salutary an example, took +counsel together on the expediency of shipping off Oliver Twist, in +some small trading vessel bound to a good unhealthy port. This +suggested itself as the very best thing that could possibly be done +with him: the probability being, that the skipper would flog him to +death, in a playful mood, some day after dinner, or would knock his +brains out with an iron bar; both pastimes being, as is pretty +generally known, very favourite and common recreations among gentleman +of that class. The more the case presented itself to the board, in this +point of view, the more manifold the advantages of the step appeared; +so, they came to the conclusion that the only way of providing for +Oliver effectually, was to send him to sea without delay. + +Mr. Bumble had been despatched to make various preliminary inquiries, +with the view of finding out some captain or other who wanted a +cabin-boy without any friends; and was returning to the workhouse to +communicate the result of his mission; when he encountered at the gate, +no less a person than Mr. Sowerberry, the parochial undertaker. + +Mr. Sowerberry was a tall gaunt, large-jointed man, attired in a suit +of threadbare black, with darned cotton stockings of the same colour, +and shoes to answer. His features were not naturally intended to wear a +smiling aspect, but he was in general rather given to professional +jocosity. His step was elastic, and his face betokened inward +pleasantry, as he advanced to Mr. Bumble, and shook him cordially by +the hand. + +“I have taken the measure of the two women that died last night, Mr. +Bumble,” said the undertaker. + +“You’ll make your fortune, Mr. Sowerberry,” said the beadle, as he +thrust his thumb and forefinger into the proffered snuff-box of the +undertaker: which was an ingenious little model of a patent coffin. “I +say you’ll make your fortune, Mr. Sowerberry,” repeated Mr. Bumble, +tapping the undertaker on the shoulder, in a friendly manner, with his +cane. + +“Think so?” said the undertaker in a tone which half admitted and half +disputed the probability of the event. “The prices allowed by the board +are very small, Mr. Bumble.” + +“So are the coffins,” replied the beadle: with precisely as near an +approach to a laugh as a great official ought to indulge in. + +Mr. Sowerberry was much tickled at this: as of course he ought to be; +and laughed a long time without cessation. “Well, well, Mr. Bumble,” he +said at length, “there’s no denying that, since the new system of +feeding has come in, the coffins are something narrower and more +shallow than they used to be; but we must have some profit, Mr. Bumble. +Well-seasoned timber is an expensive article, sir; and all the iron +handles come, by canal, from Birmingham.” + +“Well, well,” said Mr. Bumble, “every trade has its drawbacks. A fair +profit is, of course, allowable.” + +“Of course, of course,” replied the undertaker; “and if I don’t get a +profit upon this or that particular article, why, I make it up in the +long-run, you see—he! he! he!” + +“Just so,” said Mr. Bumble. + +“Though I must say,” continued the undertaker, resuming the current of +observations which the beadle had interrupted: “though I must say, Mr. +Bumble, that I have to contend against one very great disadvantage: +which is, that all the stout people go off the quickest. The people who +have been better off, and have paid rates for many years, are the first +to sink when they come into the house; and let me tell you, Mr. Bumble, +that three or four inches over one’s calculation makes a great hole in +one’s profits: especially when one has a family to provide for, sir.” + +As Mr. Sowerberry said this, with the becoming indignation of an +ill-used man; and as Mr. Bumble felt that it rather tended to convey a +reflection on the honour of the parish; the latter gentleman thought it +advisable to change the subject. Oliver Twist being uppermost in his +mind, he made him his theme. + +“By the bye,” said Mr. Bumble, “you don’t know anybody who wants a boy, +do you? A porochial ’prentis, who is at present a dead-weight; a +millstone, as I may say, round the porochial throat? Liberal terms, Mr. +Sowerberry, liberal terms?” As Mr. Bumble spoke, he raised his cane to +the bill above him, and gave three distinct raps upon the words “five +pounds”: which were printed thereon in Roman capitals of gigantic size. + +“Gadso!” said the undertaker: taking Mr. Bumble by the gilt-edged +lappel of his official coat; “that’s just the very thing I wanted to +speak to you about. You know—dear me, what a very elegant button this +is, Mr. Bumble! I never noticed it before.” + +“Yes, I think it rather pretty,” said the beadle, glancing proudly +downwards at the large brass buttons which embellished his coat. “The +die is the same as the porochial seal—the Good Samaritan healing the +sick and bruised man. The board presented it to me on Newyear’s +morning, Mr. Sowerberry. I put it on, I remember, for the first time, +to attend the inquest on that reduced tradesman, who died in a doorway +at midnight.” + +“I recollect,” said the undertaker. “The jury brought it in, ‘Died from +exposure to the cold, and want of the common necessaries of life,’ +didn’t they?” + +Mr. Bumble nodded. + +“And they made it a special verdict, I think,” said the undertaker, “by +adding some words to the effect, that if the relieving officer had—” + +“Tush! Foolery!” interposed the beadle. “If the board attended to all +the nonsense that ignorant jurymen talk, they’d have enough to do.” + +“Very true,” said the undertaker; “they would indeed.” + +“Juries,” said Mr. Bumble, grasping his cane tightly, as was his wont +when working into a passion: “juries is ineddicated, vulgar, grovelling +wretches.” + +“So they are,” said the undertaker. + +“They haven’t no more philosophy nor political economy about ’em than +that,” said the beadle, snapping his fingers contemptuously. + +“No more they have,” acquiesced the undertaker. + +“I despise ’em,” said the beadle, growing very red in the face. + +“So do I,” rejoined the undertaker. + +“And I only wish we’d a jury of the independent sort, in the house for +a week or two,” said the beadle; “the rules and regulations of the +board would soon bring their spirit down for ’em.” + +“Let ’em alone for that,” replied the undertaker. So saying, he smiled, +approvingly: to calm the rising wrath of the indignant parish officer. + +Mr Bumble lifted off his cocked hat; took a handkerchief from the +inside of the crown; wiped from his forehead the perspiration which his +rage had engendered; fixed the cocked hat on again; and, turning to the +undertaker, said in a calmer voice: + +“Well; what about the boy?” + +“Oh!” replied the undertaker; “why, you know, Mr. Bumble, I pay a good +deal towards the poor’s rates.” + +“Hem!” said Mr. Bumble. “Well?” + +“Well,” replied the undertaker, “I was thinking that if I pay so much +towards ’em, I’ve a right to get as much out of ’em as I can, Mr. +Bumble; and so—I think I’ll take the boy myself.” + +Mr. Bumble grasped the undertaker by the arm, and led him into the +building. Mr. Sowerberry was closeted with the board for five minutes; +and it was arranged that Oliver should go to him that evening “upon +liking”—a phrase which means, in the case of a parish apprentice, that +if the master find, upon a short trial, that he can get enough work out +of a boy without putting too much food into him, he shall have him for +a term of years, to do what he likes with. + +When little Oliver was taken before “the gentlemen” that evening; and +informed that he was to go, that night, as general house-lad to a +coffin-maker’s; and that if he complained of his situation, or ever +came back to the parish again, he would be sent to sea, there to be +drowned, or knocked on the head, as the case might be, he evinced so +little emotion, that they by common consent pronounced him a hardened +young rascal, and ordered Mr. Bumble to remove him forthwith. + +Now, although it was very natural that the board, of all people in the +world, should feel in a great state of virtuous astonishment and horror +at the smallest tokens of want of feeling on the part of anybody, they +were rather out, in this particular instance. The simple fact was, that +Oliver, instead of possessing too little feeling, possessed rather too +much; and was in a fair way of being reduced, for life, to a state of +brutal stupidity and sullenness by the ill usage he had received. He +heard the news of his destination, in perfect silence; and, having had +his luggage put into his hand—which was not very difficult to carry, +inasmuch as it was all comprised within the limits of a brown paper +parcel, about half a foot square by three inches deep—he pulled his cap +over his eyes; and once more attaching himself to Mr. Bumble’s coat +cuff, was led away by that dignitary to a new scene of suffering. + +For some time, Mr. Bumble drew Oliver along, without notice or remark; +for the beadle carried his head very erect, as a beadle always should: +and, it being a windy day, little Oliver was completely enshrouded by +the skirts of Mr. Bumble’s coat as they blew open, and disclosed to +great advantage his flapped waistcoat and drab plush knee-breeches. As +they drew near to their destination, however, Mr. Bumble thought it +expedient to look down, and see that the boy was in good order for +inspection by his new master: which he accordingly did, with a fit and +becoming air of gracious patronage. + +“Oliver!” said Mr. Bumble. + +“Yes, sir,” replied Oliver, in a low, tremulous voice. + +“Pull that cap off your eyes, and hold up your head, sir.” + +Although Oliver did as he was desired, at once; and passed the back of +his unoccupied hand briskly across his eyes, he left a tear in them +when he looked up at his conductor. As Mr. Bumble gazed sternly upon +him, it rolled down his cheek. It was followed by another, and another. +The child made a strong effort, but it was an unsuccessful one. +Withdrawing his other hand from Mr. Bumble’s he covered his face with +both; and wept until the tears sprung out from between his chin and +bony fingers. + +“Well!” exclaimed Mr. Bumble, stopping short, and darting at his little +charge a look of intense malignity. “Well! Of _all_ the ungratefullest, +and worst-disposed boys as ever I see, Oliver, you are the—” + +“No, no, sir,” sobbed Oliver, clinging to the hand which held the +well-known cane; “no, no, sir; I will be good indeed; indeed, indeed I +will, sir! I am a very little boy, sir; and it is so—so—” + +“So what?” inquired Mr. Bumble in amazement. + +“So lonely, sir! So very lonely!” cried the child. “Everybody hates me. +Oh! sir, don’t, don’t pray be cross to me!” The child beat his hand +upon his heart; and looked in his companion’s face, with tears of real +agony. + +Mr. Bumble regarded Oliver’s piteous and helpless look, with some +astonishment, for a few seconds; hemmed three or four times in a husky +manner; and after muttering something about “that troublesome cough,” +bade Oliver dry his eyes and be a good boy. Then once more taking his +hand, he walked on with him in silence. + +The undertaker, who had just put up the shutters of his shop, was +making some entries in his day-book by the light of a most appropriate +dismal candle, when Mr. Bumble entered. + +“Aha!” said the undertaker; looking up from the book, and pausing in +the middle of a word; “is that you, Bumble?” + +“No one else, Mr. Sowerberry,” replied the beadle. “Here! I’ve brought +the boy.” Oliver made a bow. + +“Oh! that’s the boy, is it?” said the undertaker: raising the candle +above his head, to get a better view of Oliver. “Mrs. Sowerberry, will +you have the goodness to come here a moment, my dear?” + +Mrs. Sowerberry emerged from a little room behind the shop, and +presented the form of a short, thin, squeezed-up woman, with a vixenish +countenance. + +“My dear,” said Mr. Sowerberry, deferentially, “this is the boy from +the workhouse that I told you of.” Oliver bowed again. + +“Dear me!” said the undertaker’s wife, “he’s very small.” + +“Why, he _is_ rather small,” replied Mr. Bumble: looking at Oliver as +if it were his fault that he was no bigger; “he is small. There’s no +denying it. But he’ll grow, Mrs. Sowerberry—he’ll grow.” + +“Ah! I dare say he will,” replied the lady pettishly, “on our victuals +and our drink. I see no saving in parish children, not I; for they +always cost more to keep, than they’re worth. However, men always think +they know best. There! Get downstairs, little bag o’ bones.” With this, +the undertaker’s wife opened a side door, and pushed Oliver down a +steep flight of stairs into a stone cell, damp and dark: forming the +ante-room to the coal-cellar, and denominated “kitchen”; wherein sat a +slatternly girl, in shoes down at heel, and blue worsted stockings very +much out of repair. + +“Here, Charlotte,” said Mr. Sowerberry, who had followed Oliver down, +“give this boy some of the cold bits that were put by for Trip. He +hasn’t come home since the morning, so he may go without ’em. I dare +say the boy isn’t too dainty to eat ’em—are you, boy?” + +Oliver, whose eyes had glistened at the mention of meat, and who was +trembling with eagerness to devour it, replied in the negative; and a +plateful of coarse broken victuals was set before him. + +I wish some well-fed philosopher, whose meat and drink turn to gall +within him; whose blood is ice, whose heart is iron; could have seen +Oliver Twist clutching at the dainty viands that the dog had neglected. +I wish he could have witnessed the horrible avidity with which Oliver +tore the bits asunder with all the ferocity of famine. There is only +one thing I should like better; and that would be to see the +Philosopher making the same sort of meal himself, with the same relish. + +“Well,” said the undertaker’s wife, when Oliver had finished his +supper: which she had regarded in silent horror, and with fearful +auguries of his future appetite: “have you done?” + +There being nothing eatable within his reach, Oliver replied in the +affirmative. + +“Then come with me,” said Mrs. Sowerberry: taking up a dim and dirty +lamp, and leading the way upstairs; “your bed’s under the counter. You +don’t mind sleeping among the coffins, I suppose? But it doesn’t much +matter whether you do or don’t, for you can’t sleep anywhere else. +Come; don’t keep me here all night!” + +Oliver lingered no longer, but meekly followed his new mistress. + + + + + CHAPTER V. +OLIVER MINGLES WITH NEW ASSOCIATES. GOING TO A FUNERAL FOR THE FIRST +TIME, HE FORMS AN UNFAVOURABLE NOTION OF HIS MASTER’S BUSINESS + + +Oliver, being left to himself in the undertaker’s shop, set the lamp +down on a workman’s bench, and gazed timidly about him with a feeling +of awe and dread, which many people a good deal older than he will be +at no loss to understand. An unfinished coffin on black tressels, which +stood in the middle of the shop, looked so gloomy and death-like that a +cold tremble came over him, every time his eyes wandered in the +direction of the dismal object: from which he almost expected to see +some frightful form slowly rear its head, to drive him mad with terror. +Against the wall were ranged, in regular array, a long row of elm +boards cut in the same shape: looking in the dim light, like +high-shouldered ghosts with their hands in their breeches pockets. +Coffin-plates, elm-chips, bright-headed nails, and shreds of black +cloth, lay scattered on the floor; and the wall behind the counter was +ornamented with a lively representation of two mutes in very stiff +neckcloths, on duty at a large private door, with a hearse drawn by +four black steeds, approaching in the distance. The shop was close and +hot. The atmosphere seemed tainted with the smell of coffins. The +recess beneath the counter in which his flock mattress was thrust, +looked like a grave. + +Nor were these the only dismal feelings which depressed Oliver. He was +alone in a strange place; and we all know how chilled and desolate the +best of us will sometimes feel in such a situation. The boy had no +friends to care for, or to care for him. The regret of no recent +separation was fresh in his mind; the absence of no loved and +well-remembered face sank heavily into his heart. + +But his heart was heavy, notwithstanding; and he wished, as he crept +into his narrow bed, that that were his coffin, and that he could be +lain in a calm and lasting sleep in the churchyard ground, with the +tall grass waving gently above his head, and the sound of the old deep +bell to soothe him in his sleep. + +Oliver was awakened in the morning, by a loud kicking at the outside of +the shop-door: which, before he could huddle on his clothes, was +repeated, in an angry and impetuous manner, about twenty-five times. +When he began to undo the chain, the legs desisted, and a voice began. + +“Open the door, will yer?” cried the voice which belonged to the legs +which had kicked at the door. + +“I will, directly, sir,” replied Oliver: undoing the chain, and turning +the key. + +“I suppose yer the new boy, ain’t yer?” said the voice through the +key-hole. + +“Yes, sir,” replied Oliver. + +“How old are yer?” inquired the voice. + +“Ten, sir,” replied Oliver. + +“Then I’ll whop yer when I get in,” said the voice; “you just see if I +don’t, that’s all, my work’us brat!” and having made this obliging +promise, the voice began to whistle. + +Oliver had been too often subjected to the process to which the very +expressive monosyllable just recorded bears reference, to entertain the +smallest doubt that the owner of the voice, whoever he might be, would +redeem his pledge, most honourably. He drew back the bolts with a +trembling hand, and opened the door. + +For a second or two, Oliver glanced up the street, and down the street, +and over the way: impressed with the belief that the unknown, who had +addressed him through the key-hole, had walked a few paces off, to warm +himself; for nobody did he see but a big charity-boy, sitting on a post +in front of the house, eating a slice of bread and butter: which he cut +into wedges, the size of his mouth, with a clasp-knife, and then +consumed with great dexterity. + +“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Oliver at length: seeing that no other +visitor made his appearance; “did you knock?” + +“I kicked,” replied the charity-boy. + +“Did you want a coffin, sir?” inquired Oliver, innocently. + +At this, the charity-boy looked monstrous fierce; and said that Oliver +would want one before long, if he cut jokes with his superiors in that +way. + +“Yer don’t know who I am, I suppose, Work’us?” said the charity-boy, in +continuation: descending from the top of the post, meanwhile, with +edifying gravity. + +“No, sir,” rejoined Oliver. + +“I’m Mister Noah Claypole,” said the charity-boy, “and you’re under me. +Take down the shutters, yer idle young ruffian!” With this, Mr. +Claypole administered a kick to Oliver, and entered the shop with a +dignified air, which did him great credit. It is difficult for a +large-headed, small-eyed youth, of lumbering make and heavy +countenance, to look dignified under any circumstances; but it is more +especially so, when superadded to these personal attractions are a red +nose and yellow smalls. + +Oliver, having taken down the shutters, and broken a pane of glass in +his effort to stagger away beneath the weight of the first one to a +small court at the side of the house in which they were kept during the +day, was graciously assisted by Noah: who having consoled him with the +assurance that “he’d catch it,” condescended to help him. Mr. +Sowerberry came down soon after. Shortly afterwards, Mrs. Sowerberry +appeared. Oliver having “caught it,” in fulfilment of Noah’s +prediction, followed that young gentleman down the stairs to breakfast. + +“Come near the fire, Noah,” said Charlotte. “I saved a nice little bit +of bacon for you from master’s breakfast. Oliver, shut that door at +Mister Noah’s back, and take them bits that I’ve put out on the cover +of the bread-pan. There’s your tea; take it away to that box, and drink +it there, and make haste, for they’ll want you to mind the shop. D’ye +hear?” + +“D’ye hear, Work’us?” said Noah Claypole. + +“Lor, Noah!” said Charlotte, “what a rum creature you are! Why don’t +you let the boy alone?” + +“Let him alone!” said Noah. “Why everybody lets him alone enough, for +the matter of that. Neither his father nor his mother will ever +interfere with him. All his relations let him have his own way pretty +well. Eh, Charlotte? He! he! he!” + +“Oh, you queer soul!” said Charlotte, bursting into a hearty laugh, in +which she was joined by Noah; after which they both looked scornfully +at poor Oliver Twist, as he sat shivering on the box in the coldest +corner of the room, and ate the stale pieces which had been specially +reserved for him. + +Noah was a charity-boy, but not a workhouse orphan. No chance-child was +he, for he could trace his genealogy all the way back to his parents, +who lived hard by; his mother being a washerwoman, and his father a +drunken soldier, discharged with a wooden leg, and a diurnal pension of +twopence-halfpenny and an unstateable fraction. The shop-boys in the +neighbourhood had long been in the habit of branding Noah in the public +streets, with the ignominious epithets of “leathers,” “charity,” and +the like; and Noah had borne them without reply. But, now that fortune +had cast in his way a nameless orphan, at whom even the meanest could +point the finger of scorn, he retorted on him with interest. This +affords charming food for contemplation. It shows us what a beautiful +thing human nature may be made to be; and how impartially the same +amiable qualities are developed in the finest lord and the dirtiest +charity-boy. + +Oliver had been sojourning at the undertaker’s some three weeks or a +month. Mr. and Mrs. Sowerberry—the shop being shut up—were taking their +supper in the little back-parlour, when Mr. Sowerberry, after several +deferential glances at his wife, said, + +“My dear—” He was going to say more; but, Mrs. Sowerberry looking up, +with a peculiarly unpropitious aspect, he stopped short. + +“Well,” said Mrs. Sowerberry, sharply. + +“Nothing, my dear, nothing,” said Mr. Sowerberry. + +“Ugh, you brute!” said Mrs. Sowerberry. + +“Not at all, my dear,” said Mr. Sowerberry humbly. “I thought you +didn’t want to hear, my dear. I was only going to say—” + +“Oh, don’t tell me what you were going to say,” interposed Mrs. +Sowerberry. “I am nobody; don’t consult me, pray. _I_ don’t want to +intrude upon your secrets.” As Mrs. Sowerberry said this, she gave an +hysterical laugh, which threatened violent consequences. + +“But, my dear,” said Sowerberry, “I want to ask your advice.” + +“No, no, don’t ask mine,” replied Mrs. Sowerberry, in an affecting +manner: “ask somebody else’s.” Here, there was another hysterical +laugh, which frightened Mr. Sowerberry very much. This is a very common +and much-approved matrimonial course of treatment, which is often very +effective. It at once reduced Mr. Sowerberry to begging, as a special +favour, to be allowed to say what Mrs. Sowerberry was most curious to +hear. After a short duration, the permission was most graciously +conceded. + +“It’s only about young Twist, my dear,” said Mr. Sowerberry. “A very +good-looking boy, that, my dear.” + +“He need be, for he eats enough,” observed the lady. + +“There’s an expression of melancholy in his face, my dear,” resumed Mr. +Sowerberry, “which is very interesting. He would make a delightful +mute, my love.” + +Mrs. Sowerberry looked up with an expression of considerable +wonderment. Mr. Sowerberry remarked it and, without allowing time for +any observation on the good lady’s part, proceeded. + +“I don’t mean a regular mute to attend grown-up people, my dear, but +only for children’s practice. It would be very new to have a mute in +proportion, my dear. You may depend upon it, it would have a superb +effect.” + +Mrs. Sowerberry, who had a good deal of taste in the undertaking way, +was much struck by the novelty of this idea; but, as it would have been +compromising her dignity to have said so, under existing circumstances, +she merely inquired, with much sharpness, why such an obvious +suggestion had not presented itself to her husband’s mind before? Mr. +Sowerberry rightly construed this, as an acquiescence in his +proposition; it was speedily determined, therefore, that Oliver should +be at once initiated into the mysteries of the trade; and, with this +view, that he should accompany his master on the very next occasion of +his services being required. + +The occasion was not long in coming. Half an hour after breakfast next +morning, Mr. Bumble entered the shop; and supporting his cane against +the counter, drew forth his large leathern pocket-book: from which he +selected a small scrap of paper, which he handed over to Sowerberry. + +“Aha!” said the undertaker, glancing over it with a lively countenance; +“an order for a coffin, eh?” + +“For a coffin first, and a porochial funeral afterwards,” replied Mr. +Bumble, fastening the strap of the leathern pocket-book: which, like +himself, was very corpulent. + +“Bayton,” said the undertaker, looking from the scrap of paper to Mr. +Bumble. “I never heard the name before.” + +Bumble shook his head, as he replied, “Obstinate people, Mr. +Sowerberry; very obstinate. Proud, too, I’m afraid, sir.” + +“Proud, eh?” exclaimed Mr. Sowerberry with a sneer. “Come, that’s too +much.” + +“Oh, it’s sickening,” replied the beadle. “Antimonial, Mr. Sowerberry!” + +“So it is,” acquiesced the undertaker. + +“We only heard of the family the night before last,” said the beadle; +“and we shouldn’t have known anything about them, then, only a woman +who lodges in the same house made an application to the porochial +committee for them to send the porochial surgeon to see a woman as was +very bad. He had gone out to dinner; but his ’prentice (which is a very +clever lad) sent ’em some medicine in a blacking-bottle, offhand.” + +“Ah, there’s promptness,” said the undertaker. + +“Promptness, indeed!” replied the beadle. “But what’s the consequence; +what’s the ungrateful behaviour of these rebels, sir? Why, the husband +sends back word that the medicine won’t suit his wife’s complaint, and +so she shan’t take it—says she shan’t take it, sir! Good, strong, +wholesome medicine, as was given with great success to two Irish +labourers and a coal-heaver, only a week before—sent ’em for nothing, +with a blackin’-bottle in,—and he sends back word that she shan’t take +it, sir!” + +As the atrocity presented itself to Mr. Bumble’s mind in full force, he +struck the counter sharply with his cane, and became flushed with +indignation. + +“Well,” said the undertaker, “I ne—ver—did—” + +“Never did, sir!” ejaculated the beadle. “No, nor nobody never did; but +now she’s dead, we’ve got to bury her; and that’s the direction; and +the sooner it’s done, the better.” + +Thus saying, Mr. Bumble put on his cocked hat wrong side first, in a +fever of parochial excitement; and flounced out of the shop. + +“Why, he was so angry, Oliver, that he forgot even to ask after you!” +said Mr. Sowerberry, looking after the beadle as he strode down the +street. + +“Yes, sir,” replied Oliver, who had carefully kept himself out of +sight, during the interview; and who was shaking from head to foot at +the mere recollection of the sound of Mr. Bumble’s voice. He needn’t +have taken the trouble to shrink from Mr. Bumble’s glance, however; for +that functionary, on whom the prediction of the gentleman in the white +waistcoat had made a very strong impression, thought that now the +undertaker had got Oliver upon trial the subject was better avoided, +until such time as he should be firmly bound for seven years, and all +danger of his being returned upon the hands of the parish should be +thus effectually and legally overcome. + +“Well,” said Mr. Sowerberry, taking up his hat, “the sooner this job is +done, the better. Noah, look after the shop. Oliver, put on your cap, +and come with me.” Oliver obeyed, and followed his master on his +professional mission. + +They walked on, for some time, through the most crowded and densely +inhabited part of the town; and then, striking down a narrow street +more dirty and miserable than any they had yet passed through, paused +to look for the house which was the object of their search. The houses +on either side were high and large, but very old, and tenanted by +people of the poorest class: as their neglected appearance would have +sufficiently denoted, without the concurrent testimony afforded by the +squalid looks of the few men and women who, with folded arms and bodies +half doubled, occasionally skulked along. A great many of the tenements +had shop-fronts; but these were fast closed, and mouldering away; only +the upper rooms being inhabited. Some houses which had become insecure +from age and decay, were prevented from falling into the street, by +huge beams of wood reared against the walls, and firmly planted in the +road; but even these crazy dens seemed to have been selected as the +nightly haunts of some houseless wretches, for many of the rough boards +which supplied the place of door and window, were wrenched from their +positions, to afford an aperture wide enough for the passage of a human +body. The kennel was stagnant and filthy. The very rats, which here and +there lay putrefying in its rottenness, were hideous with famine. + +There was neither knocker nor bell-handle at the open door where Oliver +and his master stopped; so, groping his way cautiously through the dark +passage, and bidding Oliver keep close to him and not be afraid, the +undertaker mounted to the top of the first flight of stairs. Stumbling +against a door on the landing, he rapped at it with his knuckles. + +It was opened by a young girl of thirteen or fourteen. The undertaker +at once saw enough of what the room contained, to know it was the +apartment to which he had been directed. He stepped in; Oliver followed +him. + +There was no fire in the room; but a man was crouching, mechanically, +over the empty stove. An old woman, too, had drawn a low stool to the +cold hearth, and was sitting beside him. There were some ragged +children in another corner; and in a small recess, opposite the door, +there lay upon the ground, something covered with an old blanket. +Oliver shuddered as he cast his eyes toward the place, and crept +involuntarily closer to his master; for though it was covered up, the +boy felt that it was a corpse. + +The man’s face was thin and very pale; his hair and beard were grizzly; +his eyes were bloodshot. The old woman’s face was wrinkled; her two +remaining teeth protruded over her under lip; and her eyes were bright +and piercing. Oliver was afraid to look at either her or the man. They +seemed so like the rats he had seen outside. + +“Nobody shall go near her,” said the man, starting fiercely up, as the +undertaker approached the recess. “Keep back! Damn you, keep back, if +you’ve a life to lose!” + +“Nonsense, my good man,” said the undertaker, who was pretty well used +to misery in all its shapes. “Nonsense!” + +“I tell you,” said the man: clenching his hands, and stamping furiously +on the floor,—“I tell you I won’t have her put into the ground. She +couldn’t rest there. The worms would worry her—not eat her—she is so +worn away.” + +The undertaker offered no reply to this raving; but producing a tape +from his pocket, knelt down for a moment by the side of the body. + +“Ah!” said the man: bursting into tears, and sinking on his knees at +the feet of the dead woman; “kneel down, kneel down—kneel round her, +every one of you, and mark my words! I say she was starved to death. I +never knew how bad she was, till the fever came upon her; and then her +bones were starting through the skin. There was neither fire nor +candle; she died in the dark—in the dark! She couldn’t even see her +children’s faces, though we heard her gasping out their names. I begged +for her in the streets: and they sent me to prison. When I came back, +she was dying; and all the blood in my heart has dried up, for they +starved her to death. I swear it before the God that saw it! They +starved her!” He twined his hands in his hair; and, with a loud scream, +rolled grovelling upon the floor: his eyes fixed, and the foam covering +his lips. + +The terrified children cried bitterly; but the old woman, who had +hitherto remained as quiet as if she had been wholly deaf to all that +passed, menaced them into silence. Having unloosened the cravat of the +man who still remained extended on the ground, she tottered towards the +undertaker. + +“She was my daughter,” said the old woman, nodding her head in the +direction of the corpse; and speaking with an idiotic leer, more +ghastly than even the presence of death in such a place. “Lord, Lord! +Well, it _is_ strange that I who gave birth to her, and was a woman +then, should be alive and merry now, and she lying there: so cold and +stiff! Lord, Lord!—to think of it; it’s as good as a play—as good as a +play!” + +As the wretched creature mumbled and chuckled in her hideous merriment, +the undertaker turned to go away. + +“Stop, stop!” said the old woman in a loud whisper. “Will she be buried +tomorrow, or next day, or tonight? I laid her out; and I must walk, +you know. Send me a large cloak: a good warm one: for it is bitter +cold. We should have cake and wine, too, before we go! Never mind; send +some bread—only a loaf of bread and a cup of water. Shall we have some +bread, dear?” she said eagerly: catching at the undertaker’s coat, as +he once more moved towards the door. + +“Yes, yes,” said the undertaker, “of course. Anything you like!” He +disengaged himself from the old woman’s grasp; and, drawing Oliver +after him, hurried away. + +The next day, (the family having been meanwhile relieved with a +half-quartern loaf and a piece of cheese, left with them by Mr. Bumble +himself,) Oliver and his master returned to the miserable abode; where +Mr. Bumble had already arrived, accompanied by four men from the +workhouse, who were to act as bearers. An old black cloak had been +thrown over the rags of the old woman and the man; and the bare coffin +having been screwed down, was hoisted on the shoulders of the bearers, +and carried into the street. + +“Now, you must put your best leg foremost, old lady!” whispered +Sowerberry in the old woman’s ear; “we are rather late; and it won’t +do, to keep the clergyman waiting. Move on, my men,—as quick as you +like!” + +Thus directed, the bearers trotted on under their light burden; and the +two mourners kept as near them, as they could. Mr. Bumble and +Sowerberry walked at a good smart pace in front; and Oliver, whose legs +were not so long as his master’s, ran by the side. + +There was not so great a necessity for hurrying as Mr. Sowerberry had +anticipated, however; for when they reached the obscure corner of the +churchyard in which the nettles grew, and where the parish graves were +made, the clergyman had not arrived; and the clerk, who was sitting by +the vestry-room fire, seemed to think it by no means improbable that it +might be an hour or so, before he came. So, they put the bier on the +brink of the grave; and the two mourners waited patiently in the damp +clay, with a cold rain drizzling down, while the ragged boys whom the +spectacle had attracted into the churchyard played a noisy game at +hide-and-seek among the tombstones, or varied their amusements by +jumping backwards and forwards over the coffin. Mr. Sowerberry and +Bumble, being personal friends of the clerk, sat by the fire with him, +and read the paper. + +At length, after a lapse of something more than an hour, Mr. Bumble, +and Sowerberry, and the clerk, were seen running towards the grave. +Immediately afterwards, the clergyman appeared: putting on his surplice +as he came along. Mr. Bumble then thrashed a boy or two, to keep up +appearances; and the reverend gentleman, having read as much of the +burial service as could be compressed into four minutes, gave his +surplice to the clerk, and walked away again. + +“Now, Bill!” said Sowerberry to the grave-digger. “Fill up!” + +It was no very difficult task, for the grave was so full, that the +uppermost coffin was within a few feet of the surface. The grave-digger +shovelled in the earth; stamped it loosely down with his feet: +shouldered his spade; and walked off, followed by the boys, who +murmured very loud complaints at the fun being over so soon. + +“Come, my good fellow!” said Bumble, tapping the man on the back. “They +want to shut up the yard.” + +The man who had never once moved, since he had taken his station by the +grave side, started, raised his head, stared at the person who had +addressed him, walked forward for a few paces; and fell down in a +swoon. The crazy old woman was too much occupied in bewailing the loss +of her cloak (which the undertaker had taken off), to pay him any +attention; so they threw a can of cold water over him; and when he came +to, saw him safely out of the churchyard, locked the gate, and departed +on their different ways. + +“Well, Oliver,” said Sowerberry, as they walked home, “how do you like +it?” + +“Pretty well, thank you, sir” replied Oliver, with considerable +hesitation. “Not very much, sir.” + +“Ah, you’ll get used to it in time, Oliver,” said Sowerberry. “Nothing +when you _are_ used to it, my boy.” + +Oliver wondered, in his own mind, whether it had taken a very long time +to get Mr. Sowerberry used to it. But he thought it better not to ask +the question; and walked back to the shop: thinking over all he had +seen and heard. + + + + + CHAPTER VI. +OLIVER, BEING GOADED BY THE TAUNTS OF NOAH, ROUSES INTO ACTION, AND +RATHER ASTONISHES HIM + + +The month’s trial over, Oliver was formally apprenticed. It was a nice +sickly season just at this time. In commercial phrase, coffins were +looking up; and, in the course of a few weeks, Oliver acquired a great +deal of experience. The success of Mr. Sowerberry’s ingenious +speculation, exceeded even his most sanguine hopes. The oldest +inhabitants recollected no period at which measles had been so +prevalent, or so fatal to infant existence; and many were the mournful +processions which little Oliver headed, in a hat-band reaching down to +his knees, to the indescribable admiration and emotion of all the +mothers in the town. As Oliver accompanied his master in most of his +adult expeditions too, in order that he might acquire that equanimity +of demeanour and full command of nerve which was essential to a +finished undertaker, he had many opportunities of observing the +beautiful resignation and fortitude with which some strong-minded +people bear their trials and losses. + +For instance; when Sowerberry had an order for the burial of some rich +old lady or gentleman, who was surrounded by a great number of nephews +and nieces, who had been perfectly inconsolable during the previous +illness, and whose grief had been wholly irrepressible even on the most +public occasions, they would be as happy among themselves as need +be—quite cheerful and contented—conversing together with as much +freedom and gaiety, as if nothing whatever had happened to disturb +them. Husbands, too, bore the loss of their wives with the most heroic +calmness. Wives, again, put on weeds for their husbands, as if, so far +from grieving in the garb of sorrow, they had made up their minds to +render it as becoming and attractive as possible. It was observable, +too, that ladies and gentlemen who were in passions of anguish during +the ceremony of interment, recovered almost as soon as they reached +home, and became quite composed before the tea-drinking was over. All +this was very pleasant and improving to see; and Oliver beheld it with +great admiration. + +That Oliver Twist was moved to resignation by the example of these good +people, I cannot, although I am his biographer, undertake to affirm +with any degree of confidence; but I can most distinctly say, that for +many months he continued meekly to submit to the domination and +ill-treatment of Noah Claypole: who used him far worse than before, now +that his jealousy was roused by seeing the new boy promoted to the +black stick and hat-band, while he, the old one, remained stationary in +the muffin-cap and leathers. Charlotte treated him ill, because Noah +did; and Mrs. Sowerberry was his decided enemy, because Mr. Sowerberry +was disposed to be his friend; so, between these three on one side, and +a glut of funerals on the other, Oliver was not altogether as +comfortable as the hungry pig was, when he was shut up, by mistake, in +the grain department of a brewery. + +And now, I come to a very important passage in Oliver’s history; for I +have to record an act, slight and unimportant perhaps in appearance, +but which indirectly produced a material change in all his future +prospects and proceedings. + +One day, Oliver and Noah had descended into the kitchen at the usual +dinner-hour, to banquet upon a small joint of mutton—a pound and a half +of the worst end of the neck; when Charlotte being called out of the +way, there ensued a brief interval of time, which Noah Claypole, being +hungry and vicious, considered he could not possibly devote to a +worthier purpose than aggravating and tantalising young Oliver Twist. + +Intent upon this innocent amusement, Noah put his feet on the +table-cloth; and pulled Oliver’s hair; and twitched his ears; and +expressed his opinion that he was a “sneak”; and furthermore announced +his intention of coming to see him hanged, whenever that desirable +event should take place; and entered upon various topics of petty +annoyance, like a malicious and ill-conditioned charity-boy as he was. +But, making Oliver cry, Noah attempted to be more facetious still; and +in his attempt, did what many sometimes do to this day, when they want +to be funny. He got rather personal. + +“Work’us,” said Noah, “how’s your mother?” + +“She’s dead,” replied Oliver; “don’t you say anything about her to me!” + +Oliver’s colour rose as he said this; he breathed quickly; and there +was a curious working of the mouth and nostrils, which Mr. Claypole +thought must be the immediate precursor of a violent fit of crying. +Under this impression he returned to the charge. + +“What did she die of, Work’us?” said Noah. + +“Of a broken heart, some of our old nurses told me,” replied Oliver: +more as if he were talking to himself, than answering Noah. “I think I +know what it must be to die of that!” + +“Tol de rol lol lol, right fol lairy, Work’us,” said Noah, as a tear +rolled down Oliver’s cheek. “What’s set you a snivelling now?” + +“Not _you_,” replied Oliver, sharply. “There; that’s enough. Don’t say +anything more to me about her; you’d better not!” + +“Better not!” exclaimed Noah. “Well! Better not! Work’us, don’t be +impudent. _Your_ mother, too! She was a nice ’un, she was. Oh, Lor!” +And here, Noah nodded his head expressively; and curled up as much of +his small red nose as muscular action could collect together, for the +occasion. + +“Yer know, Work’us,” continued Noah, emboldened by Oliver’s silence, +and speaking in a jeering tone of affected pity: of all tones the most +annoying: “Yer know, Work’us, it can’t be helped now; and of course yer +couldn’t help it then; and I am very sorry for it; and I’m sure we all +are, and pity yer very much. But yer must know, Work’us, yer mother was +a regular right-down bad ’un.” + +“What did you say?” inquired Oliver, looking up very quickly. + +“A regular right-down bad ’un, Work’us,” replied Noah, coolly. “And +it’s a great deal better, Work’us, that she died when she did, or else +she’d have been hard labouring in Bridewell, or transported, or hung; +which is more likely than either, isn’t it?” + +Crimson with fury, Oliver started up; overthrew the chair and table; +seized Noah by the throat; shook him, in the violence of his rage, till +his teeth chattered in his head; and collecting his whole force into +one heavy blow, felled him to the ground. + +A minute ago, the boy had looked the quiet child, mild, dejected +creature that harsh treatment had made him. But his spirit was roused +at last; the cruel insult to his dead mother had set his blood on fire. +His breast heaved; his attitude was erect; his eye bright and vivid; +his whole person changed, as he stood glaring over the cowardly +tormentor who now lay crouching at his feet; and defied him with an +energy he had never known before. + +“He’ll murder me!” blubbered Noah. “Charlotte! missis! Here’s the new +boy a murdering of me! Help! help! Oliver’s gone mad! Char—lotte!” + +Noah’s shouts were responded to, by a loud scream from Charlotte, and a +louder from Mrs. Sowerberry; the former of whom rushed into the kitchen +by a side-door, while the latter paused on the staircase till she was +quite certain that it was consistent with the preservation of human +life, to come further down. + +“Oh, you little wretch!” screamed Charlotte: seizing Oliver with her +utmost force, which was about equal to that of a moderately strong man +in particularly good training. “Oh, you little un-grate-ful, +mur-de-rous, hor-rid villain!” And between every syllable, Charlotte +gave Oliver a blow with all her might: accompanying it with a scream, +for the benefit of society. + +Charlotte’s fist was by no means a light one; but, lest it should not +be effectual in calming Oliver’s wrath, Mrs. Sowerberry plunged into +the kitchen, and assisted to hold him with one hand, while she +scratched his face with the other. In this favourable position of +affairs, Noah rose from the ground, and pommelled him behind. + +This was rather too violent exercise to last long. When they were all +wearied out, and could tear and beat no longer, they dragged Oliver, +struggling and shouting, but nothing daunted, into the dust-cellar, and +there locked him up. This being done, Mrs. Sowerberry sunk into a +chair, and burst into tears. + +“Bless her, she’s going off!” said Charlotte. “A glass of water, Noah, +dear. Make haste!” + +“Oh! Charlotte,” said Mrs. Sowerberry: speaking as well as she could, +through a deficiency of breath, and a sufficiency of cold water, which +Noah had poured over her head and shoulders. “Oh! Charlotte, what a +mercy we have not all been murdered in our beds!” + +“Ah! mercy indeed, ma’am,” was the reply. “I only hope this’ll teach +master not to have any more of these dreadful creatures, that are born +to be murderers and robbers from their very cradle. Poor Noah! He was +all but killed, ma’am, when I came in.” + +“Poor fellow!” said Mrs. Sowerberry, looking piteously on the +charity-boy. + +Noah, whose top waistcoat-button might have been somewhere on a level +with the crown of Oliver’s head, rubbed his eyes with the inside of his +wrists while this commiseration was bestowed upon him, and performed +some affecting tears and sniffs. + +“What’s to be done!” exclaimed Mrs. Sowerberry. “Your master’s not at +home; there’s not a man in the house, and he’ll kick that door down in +ten minutes.” Oliver’s vigorous plunges against the bit of timber in +question, rendered this occurance highly probable. + +“Dear, dear! I don’t know, ma’am,” said Charlotte, “unless we send for +the police-officers.” + +“Or the millingtary,” suggested Mr. Claypole. + +“No, no,” said Mrs. Sowerberry: bethinking herself of Oliver’s old +friend. “Run to Mr. Bumble, Noah, and tell him to come here directly, +and not to lose a minute; never mind your cap! Make haste! You can hold +a knife to that black eye, as you run along. It’ll keep the swelling +down.” + +Noah stopped to make no reply, but started off at his fullest speed; +and very much it astonished the people who were out walking, to see a +charity-boy tearing through the streets pell-mell, with no cap on his +head, and a clasp-knife at his eye. + + + + + CHAPTER VII. +OLIVER CONTINUES REFRACTORY + + +Noah Claypole ran along the streets at his swiftest pace, and paused +not once for breath, until he reached the workhouse-gate. Having rested +here, for a minute or so, to collect a good burst of sobs and an +imposing show of tears and terror, he knocked loudly at the wicket; and +presented such a rueful face to the aged pauper who opened it, that +even he, who saw nothing but rueful faces about him at the best of +times, started back in astonishment. + +“Why, what’s the matter with the boy!” said the old pauper. + +“Mr. Bumble! Mr. Bumble!” cried Noah, with well-affected dismay, and in +tones so loud and agitated, that they not only caught the ear of Mr. +Bumble himself, who happened to be hard by, but alarmed him so much +that he rushed into the yard without his cocked hat,—which is a very +curious and remarkable circumstance, as showing that even a beadle, +acted upon a sudden and powerful impulse, may be afflicted with a +momentary visitation of loss of self-possession, and forgetfulness of +personal dignity. + +“Oh, Mr. Bumble, sir!” said Noah: “Oliver, sir,—Oliver has—” + +“What? What?” interposed Mr. Bumble: with a gleam of pleasure in his +metallic eyes. “Not run away; he hasn’t run away, has he, Noah?” + +“No, sir, no. Not run away, sir, but he’s turned wicious,” replied +Noah. “He tried to murder me, sir; and then he tried to murder +Charlotte; and then missis. Oh! what dreadful pain it is! Such agony, +please, sir!” And here, Noah writhed and twisted his body into an +extensive variety of eel-like positions; thereby giving Mr. Bumble to +understand that, from the violent and sanguinary onset of Oliver Twist, +he had sustained severe internal injury and damage, from which he was +at that moment suffering the acutest torture. + +When Noah saw that the intelligence he communicated perfectly paralysed +Mr. Bumble, he imparted additional effect thereunto, by bewailing his +dreadful wounds ten times louder than before; and when he observed a +gentleman in a white waistcoat crossing the yard, he was more tragic in +his lamentations than ever: rightly conceiving it highly expedient to +attract the notice, and rouse the indignation, of the gentleman +aforesaid. + +The gentleman’s notice was very soon attracted; for he had not walked +three paces, when he turned angrily round, and inquired what that young +cur was howling for, and why Mr. Bumble did not favour him with +something which would render the series of vocular exclamations so +designated, an involuntary process? + +“It’s a poor boy from the free-school, sir,” replied Mr. Bumble, “who +has been nearly murdered—all but murdered, sir,—by young Twist.” + +“By Jove!” exclaimed the gentleman in the white waistcoat, stopping +short. “I knew it! I felt a strange presentiment from the very first, +that that audacious young savage would come to be hung!” + +“He has likewise attempted, sir, to murder the female servant,” said +Mr. Bumble, with a face of ashy paleness. + +“And his missis,” interposed Mr. Claypole. + +“And his master, too, I think you said, Noah?” added Mr. Bumble. + +“No! he’s out, or he would have murdered him,” replied Noah. “He said +he wanted to.” + +“Ah! Said he wanted to, did he, my boy?” inquired the gentleman in the +white waistcoat. + +“Yes, sir,” replied Noah. “And please, sir, missis wants to know +whether Mr. Bumble can spare time to step up there, directly, and flog +him—’cause master’s out.” + +“Certainly, my boy; certainly,” said the gentleman in the white +waistcoat: smiling benignly, and patting Noah’s head, which was about +three inches higher than his own. “You’re a good boy—a very good boy. +Here’s a penny for you. Bumble, just step up to Sowerberry’s with your +cane, and see what’s best to be done. Don’t spare him, Bumble.” + +“No, I will not, sir,” replied the beadle. And the cocked hat and cane +having been, by this time, adjusted to their owner’s satisfaction, Mr. +Bumble and Noah Claypole betook themselves with all speed to the +undertaker’s shop. + +Here the position of affairs had not at all improved. Sowerberry had +not yet returned, and Oliver continued to kick, with undiminished +vigour, at the cellar-door. The accounts of his ferocity as related by +Mrs. Sowerberry and Charlotte, were of so startling a nature, that Mr. +Bumble judged it prudent to parley, before opening the door. With this +view he gave a kick at the outside, by way of prelude; and, then, +applying his mouth to the keyhole, said, in a deep and impressive tone: + +“Oliver!” + +“Come; you let me out!” replied Oliver, from the inside. + +“Do you know this here voice, Oliver?” said Mr. Bumble. + +“Yes,” replied Oliver. + +“Ain’t you afraid of it, sir? Ain’t you a-trembling while I speak, +sir?” said Mr. Bumble. + +“No!” replied Oliver, boldly. + +An answer so different from the one he had expected to elicit, and was +in the habit of receiving, staggered Mr. Bumble not a little. He +stepped back from the keyhole; drew himself up to his full height; and +looked from one to another of the three by-standers, in mute +astonishment. + +“Oh, you know, Mr. Bumble, he must be mad,” said Mrs. Sowerberry. + +“No boy in half his senses could venture to speak so to you.” + +“It’s not madness, ma’am,” replied Mr. Bumble, after a few moments of +deep meditation. “It’s meat.” + +“What?” exclaimed Mrs. Sowerberry. + +“Meat, ma’am, meat,” replied Bumble, with stern emphasis. “You’ve +overfed him, ma’am. You’ve raised a artificial soul and spirit in him, +ma’am unbecoming a person of his condition: as the board, Mrs. +Sowerberry, who are practical philosophers, will tell you. What have +paupers to do with soul or spirit? It’s quite enough that we let ’em +have live bodies. If you had kept the boy on gruel, ma’am, this would +never have happened.” + +“Dear, dear!” ejaculated Mrs. Sowerberry, piously raising her eyes to +the kitchen ceiling: “this comes of being liberal!” + +The liberality of Mrs. Sowerberry to Oliver, had consisted of a profuse +bestowal upon him of all the dirty odds and ends which nobody else +would eat; so there was a great deal of meekness and self-devotion in +her voluntarily remaining under Mr. Bumble’s heavy accusation, of +which, to do her justice, she was wholly innocent, in thought, word, or +deed. + +“Ah!” said Mr. Bumble, when the lady brought her eyes down to earth +again; “the only thing that can be done now, that I know of, is to +leave him in the cellar for a day or so, till he’s a little starved +down; and then to take him out, and keep him on gruel all through the +apprenticeship. He comes of a bad family. Excitable natures, Mrs. +Sowerberry! Both the nurse and doctor said, that that mother of his +made her way here, against difficulties and pain that would have killed +any well-disposed woman, weeks before.” + +At this point of Mr. Bumble’s discourse, Oliver, just hearing enough to +know that some allusion was being made to his mother, recommenced +kicking, with a violence that rendered every other sound inaudible. +Sowerberry returned at this juncture. Oliver’s offence having been +explained to him, with such exaggerations as the ladies thought best +calculated to rouse his ire, he unlocked the cellar-door in a +twinkling, and dragged his rebellious apprentice out, by the collar. + +Oliver’s clothes had been torn in the beating he had received; his face +was bruised and scratched; and his hair scattered over his forehead. +The angry flush had not disappeared, however; and when he was pulled +out of his prison, he scowled boldly on Noah, and looked quite +undismayed. + +“Now, you are a nice young fellow, ain’t you?” said Sowerberry; giving +Oliver a shake, and a box on the ear. + +“He called my mother names,” replied Oliver. + +“Well, and what if he did, you little ungrateful wretch?” said Mrs. +Sowerberry. “She deserved what he said, and worse.” + +“She didn’t,” said Oliver. + +“She did,” said Mrs. Sowerberry. + +“It’s a lie!” said Oliver. + +Mrs. Sowerberry burst into a flood of tears. + +This flood of tears left Mr. Sowerberry no alternative. If he had +hesitated for one instant to punish Oliver most severely, it must be +quite clear to every experienced reader that he would have been, +according to all precedents in disputes of matrimony established, a +brute, an unnatural husband, an insulting creature, a base imitation of +a man, and various other agreeable characters too numerous for recital +within the limits of this chapter. To do him justice, he was, as far as +his power went—it was not very extensive—kindly disposed towards the +boy; perhaps, because it was his interest to be so; perhaps, because +his wife disliked him. The flood of tears, however, left him no +resource; so he at once gave him a drubbing, which satisfied even Mrs. +Sowerberry herself, and rendered Mr. Bumble’s subsequent application of +the parochial cane, rather unnecessary. For the rest of the day, he was +shut up in the back kitchen, in company with a pump and a slice of +bread; and at night, Mrs. Sowerberry, after making various remarks +outside the door, by no means complimentary to the memory of his +mother, looked into the room, and, amidst the jeers and pointings of +Noah and Charlotte, ordered him upstairs to his dismal bed. + +It was not until he was left alone in the silence and stillness of the +gloomy workshop of the undertaker, that Oliver gave way to the feelings +which the day’s treatment may be supposed likely to have awakened in a +mere child. He had listened to their taunts with a look of contempt; he +had borne the lash without a cry: for he felt that pride swelling in +his heart which would have kept down a shriek to the last, though they +had roasted him alive. But now, when there were none to see or hear +him, he fell upon his knees on the floor; and, hiding his face in his +hands, wept such tears as, God send for the credit of our nature, few +so young may ever have cause to pour out before him! + +For a long time, Oliver remained motionless in this attitude. The +candle was burning low in the socket when he rose to his feet. Having +gazed cautiously round him, and listened intently, he gently undid the +fastenings of the door, and looked abroad. + +It was a cold, dark night. The stars seemed, to the boy’s eyes, farther +from the earth than he had ever seen them before; there was no wind; +and the sombre shadows thrown by the trees upon the ground, looked +sepulchral and death-like, from being so still. He softly reclosed the +door. Having availed himself of the expiring light of the candle to tie +up in a handkerchief the few articles of wearing apparel he had, sat +himself down upon a bench, to wait for morning. + +With the first ray of light that struggled through the crevices in the +shutters, Oliver arose, and again unbarred the door. One timid look +around—one moment’s pause of hesitation—he had closed it behind him, +and was in the open street. + +He looked to the right and to the left, uncertain whither to fly. + +He remembered to have seen the waggons, as they went out, toiling up +the hill. He took the same route; and arriving at a footpath across the +fields, which he knew, after some distance, led out again into the +road; struck into it, and walked quickly on. + +Along this same footpath, Oliver well-remembered he had trotted beside +Mr. Bumble, when he first carried him to the workhouse from the farm. +His way lay directly in front of the cottage. His heart beat quickly +when he bethought himself of this; and he half resolved to turn back. +He had come a long way though, and should lose a great deal of time by +doing so. Besides, it was so early that there was very little fear of +his being seen; so he walked on. + +He reached the house. There was no appearance of its inmates stirring +at that early hour. Oliver stopped, and peeped into the garden. A child +was weeding one of the little beds; as he stopped, he raised his pale +face and disclosed the features of one of his former companions. Oliver +felt glad to see him, before he went; for, though younger than himself, +he had been his little friend and playmate. They had been beaten, and +starved, and shut up together, many and many a time. + +“Hush, Dick!” said Oliver, as the boy ran to the gate, and thrust his +thin arm between the rails to greet him. “Is any one up?” + +“Nobody but me,” replied the child. + +“You musn’t say you saw me, Dick,” said Oliver. “I am running away. +They beat and ill-use me, Dick; and I am going to seek my fortune, some +long way off. I don’t know where. How pale you are!” + +“I heard the doctor tell them I was dying,” replied the child with a +faint smile. “I am very glad to see you, dear; but don’t stop, don’t +stop!” + +“Yes, yes, I will, to say good-b’ye to you,” replied Oliver. “I shall +see you again, Dick. I know I shall! You will be well and happy!” + +“I hope so,” replied the child. “After I am dead, but not before. I +know the doctor must be right, Oliver, because I dream so much of +Heaven, and Angels, and kind faces that I never see when I am awake. +Kiss me,” said the child, climbing up the low gate, and flinging his +little arms round Oliver’s neck. “Good-b’ye, dear! God bless you!” + +The blessing was from a young child’s lips, but it was the first that +Oliver had ever heard invoked upon his head; and through the struggles +and sufferings, and troubles and changes, of his after life, he never +once forgot it. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII. +OLIVER WALKS TO LONDON. HE ENCOUNTERS ON THE ROAD A STRANGE SORT OF +YOUNG GENTLEMAN + + +Oliver reached the stile at which the by-path terminated; and once more +gained the high-road. It was eight o’clock now. Though he was nearly +five miles away from the town, he ran, and hid behind the hedges, by +turns, till noon, fearing that he might be pursued and overtaken. Then +he sat down to rest by the side of the milestone, and began to think, +for the first time, where he had better go and try to live. + +The stone by which he was seated, bore, in large characters, an +intimation that it was just seventy miles from that spot to London. The +name awakened a new train of ideas in the boy’s mind. + +London!—that great place!—nobody—not even Mr. Bumble—could ever find +him there! He had often heard the old men in the workhouse, too, say +that no lad of spirit need want in London; and that there were ways of +living in that vast city, which those who had been bred up in country +parts had no idea of. It was the very place for a homeless boy, who +must die in the streets unless some one helped him. As these things +passed through his thoughts, he jumped upon his feet, and again walked +forward. + +He had diminished the distance between himself and London by full four +miles more, before he recollected how much he must undergo ere he could +hope to reach his place of destination. As this consideration forced +itself upon him, he slackened his pace a little, and meditated upon his +means of getting there. He had a crust of bread, a coarse shirt, and +two pairs of stockings, in his bundle. He had a penny too—a gift of +Sowerberry’s after some funeral in which he had acquitted himself more +than ordinarily well—in his pocket. “A clean shirt,” thought Oliver, +“is a very comfortable thing; and so are two pairs of darned stockings; +and so is a penny; but they are small helps to a sixty-five miles’ walk +in winter time.” But Oliver’s thoughts, like those of most other +people, although they were extremely ready and active to point out his +difficulties, were wholly at a loss to suggest any feasible mode of +surmounting them; so, after a good deal of thinking to no particular +purpose, he changed his little bundle over to the other shoulder, and +trudged on. + +Oliver walked twenty miles that day; and all that time tasted nothing +but the crust of dry bread, and a few draughts of water, which he +begged at the cottage-doors by the road-side. When the night came, he +turned into a meadow; and, creeping close under a hay-rick, determined +to lie there, till morning. He felt frightened at first, for the wind +moaned dismally over the empty fields, and he was cold and hungry, and +more alone than he had ever felt before. Being very tired with his +walk, however, he soon fell asleep and forgot his troubles. + +He felt cold and stiff, when he got up next morning, and so hungry that +he was obliged to exchange the penny for a small loaf, in the very +first village through which he passed. He had walked no more than +twelve miles, when night closed in again. His feet were sore, and his +legs so weak that they trembled beneath him. Another night passed in +the bleak damp air, made him worse; when he set forward on his journey +next morning he could hardly crawl along. + +He waited at the bottom of a steep hill till a stage-coach came up, and +then begged of the outside passengers; but there were very few who took +any notice of him: and even those told him to wait till they got to the +top of the hill, and then let them see how far he could run for a +halfpenny. Poor Oliver tried to keep up with the coach a little way, +but was unable to do it, by reason of his fatigue and sore feet. When +the outsides saw this, they put their halfpence back into their pockets +again, declaring that he was an idle young dog, and didn’t deserve +anything; and the coach rattled away and left only a cloud of dust +behind. + +In some villages, large painted boards were fixed up: warning all +persons who begged within the district, that they would be sent to +jail. This frightened Oliver very much, and made him glad to get out of +those villages with all possible expedition. In others, he would stand +about the inn-yards, and look mournfully at every one who passed: a +proceeding which generally terminated in the landlady’s ordering one of +the post-boys who were lounging about, to drive that strange boy out of +the place, for she was sure he had come to steal something. If he +begged at a farmer’s house, ten to one but they threatened to set the +dog on him; and when he showed his nose in a shop, they talked about +the beadle—which brought Oliver’s heart into his mouth,—very often the +only thing he had there, for many hours together. + +In fact, if it had not been for a good-hearted turnpike-man, and a +benevolent old lady, Oliver’s troubles would have been shortened by the +very same process which had put an end to his mother’s; in other words, +he would most assuredly have fallen dead upon the king’s highway. But +the turnpike-man gave him a meal of bread and cheese; and the old lady, +who had a shipwrecked grandson wandering barefoot in some distant part +of the earth, took pity upon the poor orphan, and gave him what little +she could afford—and more—with such kind and gentle words, and such +tears of sympathy and compassion, that they sank deeper into Oliver’s +soul, than all the sufferings he had ever undergone. + +Early on the seventh morning after he had left his native place, Oliver +limped slowly into the little town of Barnet. The window-shutters were +closed; the street was empty; not a soul had awakened to the business +of the day. The sun was rising in all its splendid beauty; but the +light only served to show the boy his own lonesomeness and desolation, +as he sat, with bleeding feet and covered with dust, upon a door-step. + +By degrees, the shutters were opened; the window-blinds were drawn up; +and people began passing to and fro. Some few stopped to gaze at Oliver +for a moment or two, or turned round to stare at him as they hurried +by; but none relieved him, or troubled themselves to inquire how he +came there. He had no heart to beg. And there he sat. + +He had been crouching on the step for some time: wondering at the great +number of public-houses (every other house in Barnet was a tavern, +large or small), gazing listlessly at the coaches as they passed +through, and thinking how strange it seemed that they could do, with +ease, in a few hours, what it had taken him a whole week of courage and +determination beyond his years to accomplish: when he was roused by +observing that a boy, who had passed him carelessly some minutes +before, had returned, and was now surveying him most earnestly from the +opposite side of the way. He took little heed of this at first; but the +boy remained in the same attitude of close observation so long, that +Oliver raised his head, and returned his steady look. Upon this, the +boy crossed over; and walking close up to Oliver, said, + +“Hullo, my covey! What’s the row?” + +The boy who addressed this inquiry to the young wayfarer, was about his +own age: but one of the queerest looking boys that Oliver had even +seen. He was a snub-nosed, flat-browed, common-faced boy enough; and as +dirty a juvenile as one would wish to see; but he had about him all the +airs and manners of a man. He was short of his age: with rather +bow-legs, and little, sharp, ugly eyes. His hat was stuck on the top of +his head so lightly, that it threatened to fall off every moment—and +would have done so, very often, if the wearer had not had a knack of +every now and then giving his head a sudden twitch, which brought it +back to its old place again. He wore a man’s coat, which reached nearly +to his heels. He had turned the cuffs back, half-way up his arm, to get +his hands out of the sleeves: apparently with the ultimate view of +thrusting them into the pockets of his corduroy trousers; for there he +kept them. He was, altogether, as roystering and swaggering a young +gentleman as ever stood four feet six, or something less, in the +bluchers. + +“Hullo, my covey! What’s the row?” said this strange young gentleman to +Oliver. + +“I am very hungry and tired,” replied Oliver: the tears standing in his +eyes as he spoke. “I have walked a long way. I have been walking these +seven days.” + +“Walking for sivin days!” said the young gentleman. “Oh, I see. Beak’s +order, eh? But,” he added, noticing Oliver’s look of surprise, “I +suppose you don’t know what a beak is, my flash com-pan-i-on.” + +Oliver mildly replied, that he had always heard a bird’s mouth +described by the term in question. + +“My eyes, how green!” exclaimed the young gentleman. “Why, a beak’s a +madgst’rate; and when you walk by a beak’s order, it’s not straight +forerd, but always agoing up, and niver a coming down agin. Was you +never on the mill?” + +“What mill?” inquired Oliver. + +“What mill! Why, _the_ mill—the mill as takes up so little room that +it’ll work inside a Stone Jug; and always goes better when the wind’s +low with people, than when it’s high; acos then they can’t get workmen. +But come,” said the young gentleman; “you want grub, and you shall have +it. I’m at low-water-mark myself—only one bob and a magpie; but, as far +as it goes, I’ll fork out and stump. Up with you on your pins. There! +Now then! Morrice!” + +Assisting Oliver to rise, the young gentleman took him to an adjacent +chandler’s shop, where he purchased a sufficiency of ready-dressed ham +and a half-quartern loaf, or, as he himself expressed it, “a fourpenny +bran!” the ham being kept clean and preserved from dust, by the +ingenious expedient of making a hole in the loaf by pulling out a +portion of the crumb, and stuffing it therein. Taking the bread under +his arm, the young gentleman turned into a small public-house, and led +the way to a tap-room in the rear of the premises. Here, a pot of beer +was brought in, by direction of the mysterious youth; and Oliver, +falling to, at his new friend’s bidding, made a long and hearty meal, +during the progress of which the strange boy eyed him from time to time +with great attention. + +“Going to London?” said the strange boy, when Oliver had at length +concluded. + +“Yes.” + +“Got any lodgings?” + +“No.” + +“Money?” + +“No.” + +The strange boy whistled; and put his arms into his pockets, as far as +the big coat-sleeves would let them go. + +“Do you live in London?” inquired Oliver. + +“Yes. I do, when I’m at home,” replied the boy. “I suppose you want +some place to sleep in tonight, don’t you?” + +“I do, indeed,” answered Oliver. “I have not slept under a roof since I +left the country.” + +“Don’t fret your eyelids on that score,” said the young gentleman. +“I’ve got to be in London tonight; and I know a ’spectable old +gentleman as lives there, wot’ll give you lodgings for nothink, and +never ask for the change—that is, if any gentleman he knows interduces +you. And don’t he know me? Oh, no! Not in the least! By no means. +Certainly not!” + +The young gentleman smiled, as if to intimate that the latter fragments +of discourse were playfully ironical; and finished the beer as he did +so. + +This unexpected offer of shelter was too tempting to be resisted; +especially as it was immediately followed up, by the assurance that the +old gentleman referred to, would doubtless provide Oliver with a +comfortable place, without loss of time. This led to a more friendly +and confidential dialogue; from which Oliver discovered that his +friend’s name was Jack Dawkins, and that he was a peculiar pet and +_protégé_ of the elderly gentleman before mentioned. + +Mr. Dawkins’s appearance did not say a vast deal in favour of the +comforts which his patron’s interest obtained for those whom he took +under his protection; but, as he had a rather flightly and dissolute +mode of conversing, and furthermore avowed that among his intimate +friends he was better known by the _sobriquet_ of “The Artful Dodger,” +Oliver concluded that, being of a dissipated and careless turn, the +moral precepts of his benefactor had hitherto been thrown away upon +him. Under this impression, he secretly resolved to cultivate the good +opinion of the old gentleman as quickly as possible; and, if he found +the Dodger incorrigible, as he more than half suspected he should, to +decline the honour of his farther acquaintance. + +As John Dawkins objected to their entering London before nightfall, it +was nearly eleven o’clock when they reached the turnpike at Islington. +They crossed from the Angel into St. John’s Road; struck down the small +street which terminates at Sadler’s Wells Theatre; through Exmouth +Street and Coppice Row; down the little court by the side of the +workhouse; across the classic ground which once bore the name of +Hockley-in-the-Hole; thence into Little Saffron Hill; and so into +Saffron Hill the Great: along which the Dodger scudded at a rapid pace, +directing Oliver to follow close at his heels. + +Although Oliver had enough to occupy his attention in keeping sight of +his leader, he could not help bestowing a few hasty glances on either +side of the way, as he passed along. A dirtier or more wretched place +he had never seen. The street was very narrow and muddy, and the air +was impregnated with filthy odours. + +There were a good many small shops; but the only stock in trade +appeared to be heaps of children, who, even at that time of night, were +crawling in and out at the doors, or screaming from the inside. The +sole places that seemed to prosper amid the general blight of the +place, were the public-houses; and in them, the lowest orders of Irish +were wrangling with might and main. Covered ways and yards, which here +and there diverged from the main street, disclosed little knots of +houses, where drunken men and women were positively wallowing in filth; +and from several of the door-ways, great ill-looking fellows were +cautiously emerging, bound, to all appearance, on no very well-disposed +or harmless errands. + +Oliver was just considering whether he hadn’t better run away, when +they reached the bottom of the hill. His conductor, catching him by the +arm, pushed open the door of a house near Field Lane; and drawing him +into the passage, closed it behind them. + +“Now, then!” cried a voice from below, in reply to a whistle from the +Dodger. + +“Plummy and slam!” was the reply. + +This seemed to be some watchword or signal that all was right; for the +light of a feeble candle gleamed on the wall at the remote end of the +passage; and a man’s face peeped out, from where a balustrade of the +old kitchen staircase had been broken away. + +“There’s two on you,” said the man, thrusting the candle farther out, +and shielding his eyes with his hand. “Who’s the t’other one?” + +“A new pal,” replied Jack Dawkins, pulling Oliver forward. + +“Where did he come from?” + +“Greenland. Is Fagin upstairs?” + +“Yes, he’s a sortin’ the wipes. Up with you!” The candle was drawn +back, and the face disappeared. + +Oliver, groping his way with one hand, and having the other firmly +grasped by his companion, ascended with much difficulty the dark and +broken stairs: which his conductor mounted with an ease and expedition +that showed he was well acquainted with them. + +He threw open the door of a back-room, and drew Oliver in after him. + +The walls and ceiling of the room were perfectly black with age and +dirt. There was a deal table before the fire: upon which were a candle, +stuck in a ginger-beer bottle, two or three pewter pots, a loaf and +butter, and a plate. In a frying-pan, which was on the fire, and which +was secured to the mantelshelf by a string, some sausages were cooking; +and standing over them, with a toasting-fork in his hand, was a very +old shrivelled Jew, whose villainous-looking and repulsive face was +obscured by a quantity of matted red hair. He was dressed in a greasy +flannel gown, with his throat bare; and seemed to be dividing his +attention between the frying-pan and the clothes-horse, over which a +great number of silk handkerchiefs were hanging. Several rough beds +made of old sacks, were huddled side by side on the floor. Seated round +the table were four or five boys, none older than the Dodger, smoking +long clay pipes, and drinking spirits with the air of middle-aged men. +These all crowded about their associate as he whispered a few words to +the Jew; and then turned round and grinned at Oliver. So did the Jew +himself, toasting-fork in hand. + +“This is him, Fagin,” said Jack Dawkins; “my friend Oliver Twist.” + +The Jew grinned; and, making a low obeisance to Oliver, took him by the +hand, and hoped he should have the honour of his intimate acquaintance. +Upon this, the young gentleman with the pipes came round him, and shook +both his hands very hard—especially the one in which he held his little +bundle. One young gentleman was very anxious to hang up his cap for +him; and another was so obliging as to put his hands in his pockets, in +order that, as he was very tired, he might not have the trouble of +emptying them, himself, when he went to bed. These civilities would +probably be extended much farther, but for a liberal exercise of the +Jew’s toasting-fork on the heads and shoulders of the affectionate +youths who offered them. + +“We are very glad to see you, Oliver, very,” said the Jew. “Dodger, +take off the sausages; and draw a tub near the fire for Oliver. Ah, +you’re a-staring at the pocket-handkerchiefs! eh, my dear? There are a +good many of ’em, ain’t there? We’ve just looked ’em out, ready for the +wash; that’s all, Oliver; that’s all. Ha! ha! ha!” + +The latter part of this speech, was hailed by a boisterous shout from +all the hopeful pupils of the merry old gentleman. In the midst of +which they went to supper. + +Oliver ate his share, and the Jew then mixed him a glass of hot +gin and water, telling him he must drink it off directly, because +another gentleman wanted the tumbler. Oliver did as he was desired. +Immediately afterwards he felt himself gently lifted on to one of the +sacks; and then he sunk into a deep sleep. + + + + + CHAPTER IX. +CONTAINING FURTHER PARTICULARS CONCERNING THE PLEASANT OLD GENTLEMAN, +AND HIS HOPEFUL PUPILS + + +It was late next morning when Oliver awoke, from a sound, long sleep. +There was no other person in the room but the old Jew, who was boiling +some coffee in a saucepan for breakfast, and whistling softly to +himself as he stirred it round and round, with an iron spoon. He would +stop every now and then to listen when there was the least noise below: +and when he had satisfied himself, he would go on whistling and +stirring again, as before. + +Although Oliver had roused himself from sleep, he was not thoroughly +awake. There is a drowsy state, between sleeping and waking, when you +dream more in five minutes with your eyes half open, and yourself half +conscious of everything that is passing around you, than you would in +five nights with your eyes fast closed, and your senses wrapt in +perfect unconsciousness. At such time, a mortal knows just enough of +what his mind is doing, to form some glimmering conception of its +mighty powers, its bounding from earth and spurning time and space, +when freed from the restraint of its corporeal associate. + +Oliver was precisely in this condition. He saw the Jew with his +half-closed eyes; heard his low whistling; and recognised the sound of +the spoon grating against the saucepan’s sides: and yet the self-same +senses were mentally engaged, at the same time, in busy action with +almost everybody he had ever known. + +When the coffee was done, the Jew drew the saucepan to the hob. +Standing, then in an irresolute attitude for a few minutes, as if he +did not well know how to employ himself, he turned round and looked at +Oliver, and called him by his name. He did not answer, and was to all +appearances asleep. + +After satisfying himself upon this head, the Jew stepped gently to the +door: which he fastened. He then drew forth: as it seemed to Oliver, +from some trap in the floor: a small box, which he placed carefully on +the table. His eyes glistened as he raised the lid, and looked in. +Dragging an old chair to the table, he sat down; and took from it a +magnificent gold watch, sparkling with jewels. + +“Aha!” said the Jew, shrugging up his shoulders, and distorting every +feature with a hideous grin. “Clever dogs! Clever dogs! Staunch to the +last! Never told the old parson where they were. Never poached upon old +Fagin! And why should they? It wouldn’t have loosened the knot, or kept +the drop up, a minute longer. No, no, no! Fine fellows! Fine fellows!” + +With these, and other muttered reflections of the like nature, the Jew +once more deposited the watch in its place of safety. At least half a +dozen more were severally drawn forth from the same box, and surveyed +with equal pleasure; besides rings, brooches, bracelets, and other +articles of jewellery, of such magnificent materials, and costly +workmanship, that Oliver had no idea, even of their names. + +Having replaced these trinkets, the Jew took out another: so small that +it lay in the palm of his hand. There seemed to be some very minute +inscription on it; for the Jew laid it flat upon the table, and shading +it with his hand, pored over it, long and earnestly. At length he put +it down, as if despairing of success; and, leaning back in his chair, +muttered: + +“What a fine thing capital punishment is! Dead men never repent; dead +men never bring awkward stories to light. Ah, it’s a fine thing for the +trade! Five of ’em strung up in a row, and none left to play booty, or +turn white-livered!” + +As the Jew uttered these words, his bright dark eyes, which had been +staring vacantly before him, fell on Oliver’s face; the boy’s eyes were +fixed on his in mute curiousity; and although the recognition was only +for an instant—for the briefest space of time that can possibly be +conceived—it was enough to show the old man that he had been observed. + +He closed the lid of the box with a loud crash; and, laying his hand on +a bread knife which was on the table, started furiously up. He trembled +very much though; for, even in his terror, Oliver could see that the +knife quivered in the air. + +“What’s that?” said the Jew. “What do you watch me for? Why are you +awake? What have you seen? Speak out, boy! Quick—quick! for your life.” + +“I wasn’t able to sleep any longer, sir,” replied Oliver, meekly. “I am +very sorry if I have disturbed you, sir.” + +“You were not awake an hour ago?” said the Jew, scowling fiercely on +the boy. + +“No! No, indeed!” replied Oliver. + +“Are you sure?” cried the Jew: with a still fiercer look than before: +and a threatening attitude. + +“Upon my word I was not, sir,” replied Oliver, earnestly. “I was not, +indeed, sir.” + +“Tush, tush, my dear!” said the Jew, abruptly resuming his old manner, +and playing with the knife a little, before he laid it down; as if to +induce the belief that he had caught it up, in mere sport. “Of course I +know that, my dear. I only tried to frighten you. You’re a brave boy. +Ha! ha! you’re a brave boy, Oliver.” The Jew rubbed his hands with a +chuckle, but glanced uneasily at the box, notwithstanding. + +“Did you see any of these pretty things, my dear?” said the Jew, laying +his hand upon it after a short pause. + +“Yes, sir,” replied Oliver. + +“Ah!” said the Jew, turning rather pale. “They—they’re mine, Oliver; my +little property. All I have to live upon, in my old age. The folks call +me a miser, my dear. Only a miser; that’s all.” + +Oliver thought the old gentleman must be a decided miser to live in +such a dirty place, with so many watches; but, thinking that perhaps +his fondness for the Dodger and the other boys, cost him a good deal of +money, he only cast a deferential look at the Jew, and asked if he +might get up. + +“Certainly, my dear, certainly,” replied the old gentleman. “Stay. +There’s a pitcher of water in the corner by the door. Bring it here; +and I’ll give you a basin to wash in, my dear.” + +Oliver got up; walked across the room; and stooped for an instant to +raise the pitcher. When he turned his head, the box was gone. + +He had scarcely washed himself, and made everything tidy, by emptying +the basin out of the window, agreeably to the Jew’s directions, when +the Dodger returned: accompanied by a very sprightly young friend, whom +Oliver had seen smoking on the previous night, and who was now formally +introduced to him as Charley Bates. The four sat down, to breakfast, on +the coffee, and some hot rolls and ham which the Dodger had brought +home in the crown of his hat. + +“Well,” said the Jew, glancing slyly at Oliver, and addressing himself +to the Dodger, “I hope you’ve been at work this morning, my dears?” + +“Hard,” replied the Dodger. + +“As nails,” added Charley Bates. + +“Good boys, good boys!” said the Jew. “What have you got, Dodger?” + +“A couple of pocket-books,” replied that young gentleman. + +“Lined?” inquired the Jew, with eagerness. + +“Pretty well,” replied the Dodger, producing two pocket-books; one +green, and the other red. + +“Not so heavy as they might be,” said the Jew, after looking at the +insides carefully; “but very neat and nicely made. Ingenious workman, +ain’t he, Oliver?” + +“Very indeed, sir,” said Oliver. At which Mr. Charles Bates laughed +uproariously; very much to the amazement of Oliver, who saw nothing to +laugh at, in anything that had passed. + +“And what have you got, my dear?” said Fagin to Charley Bates. + +“Wipes,” replied Master Bates; at the same time producing four +pocket-handkerchiefs. + +“Well,” said the Jew, inspecting them closely; “they’re very good ones, +very. You haven’t marked them well, though, Charley; so the marks shall +be picked out with a needle, and we’ll teach Oliver how to do it. Shall +us, Oliver, eh? Ha! ha! ha!” + +“If you please, sir,” said Oliver. + +“You’d like to be able to make pocket-handkerchiefs as easy as Charley +Bates, wouldn’t you, my dear?” said the Jew. + +“Very much, indeed, if you’ll teach me, sir,” replied Oliver. + +Master Bates saw something so exquisitely ludicrous in this reply, that +he burst into another laugh; which laugh, meeting the coffee he was +drinking, and carrying it down some wrong channel, very nearly +terminated in his premature suffocation. + +“He is so jolly green!” said Charley when he recovered, as an apology +to the company for his unpolite behaviour. + +The Dodger said nothing, but he smoothed Oliver’s hair over his eyes, +and said he’d know better, by and by; upon which the old gentleman, +observing Oliver’s colour mounting, changed the subject by asking +whether there had been much of a crowd at the execution that morning? +This made him wonder more and more; for it was plain from the replies +of the two boys that they had both been there; and Oliver naturally +wondered how they could possibly have found time to be so very +industrious. + +When the breakfast was cleared away; the merry old gentleman and the two +boys played at a very curious and uncommon game, which was performed in +this way. The merry old gentleman, placing a snuff-box in one pocket of +his trousers, a note-case in the other, and a watch in his waistcoat +pocket, with a guard-chain round his neck, and sticking a mock diamond +pin in his shirt: buttoned his coat tight round him, and putting his +spectacle-case and handkerchief in his pockets, trotted up and down the +room with a stick, in imitation of the manner in which old gentlemen +walk about the streets any hour in the day. Sometimes he stopped at the +fire-place, and sometimes at the door, making believe that he was +staring with all his might into shop-windows. At such times, he would +look constantly round him, for fear of thieves, and would keep slapping +all his pockets in turn, to see that he hadn’t lost anything, in such a +very funny and natural manner, that Oliver laughed till the tears ran +down his face. All this time, the two boys followed him closely about: +getting out of his sight, so nimbly, every time he turned round, that +it was impossible to follow their motions. At last, the Dodger trod +upon his toes, or ran upon his boot accidently, while Charley Bates +stumbled up against him behind; and in that one moment they took from +him, with the most extraordinary rapidity, snuff-box, note-case, +watch-guard, chain, shirt-pin, pocket-handkerchief, even the +spectacle-case. If the old gentleman felt a hand in any one of his +pockets, he cried out where it was; and then the game began all over +again. + +When this game had been played a great many times, a couple of young +ladies called to see the young gentleman; one of whom was named Bet, +and the other Nancy. They wore a good deal of hair, not very neatly +turned up behind, and were rather untidy about the shoes and stockings. +They were not exactly pretty, perhaps; but they had a great deal of +colour in their faces, and looked quite stout and hearty. Being +remarkably free and agreeable in their manners, Oliver thought them +very nice girls indeed, as there is no doubt they were. + +The visitors stopped a long time. Spirits were produced, in consequence +of one of the young ladies complaining of a coldness in her inside; and +the conversation took a very convivial and improving turn. At length, +Charley Bates expressed his opinion that it was time to pad the hoof. +This, it occurred to Oliver, must be French for going out; for directly +afterwards, the Dodger, and Charley, and the two young ladies, went +away together, having been kindly furnished by the amiable old Jew with +money to spend. + +“There, my dear,” said Fagin. “That’s a pleasant life, isn’t it? They +have gone out for the day.” + +“Have they done work, sir?” inquired Oliver. + +“Yes,” said the Jew; “that is, unless they should unexpectedly come +across any, when they are out; and they won’t neglect it, if they do, +my dear, depend upon it. Make ’em your models, my dear. Make ’em your +models,” tapping the fire-shovel on the hearth to add force to his +words; “do everything they bid you, and take their advice in all +matters—especially the Dodger’s, my dear. He’ll be a great man himself, +and will make you one too, if you take pattern by him.—Is my +handkerchief hanging out of my pocket, my dear?” said the Jew, stopping +short. + +“Yes, sir,” said Oliver. + +“See if you can take it out, without my feeling it; as you saw them do, +when we were at play this morning.” + +Oliver held up the bottom of the pocket with one hand, as he had seen +the Dodger hold it, and drew the handkerchief lightly out of it with +the other. + +“Is it gone?” cried the Jew. + +“Here it is, sir,” said Oliver, showing it in his hand. + +“You’re a clever boy, my dear,” said the playful old gentleman, patting +Oliver on the head approvingly. “I never saw a sharper lad. Here’s a +shilling for you. If you go on, in this way, you’ll be the greatest man +of the time. And now come here, and I’ll show you how to take the marks +out of the handkerchiefs.” + +Oliver wondered what picking the old gentleman’s pocket in play, had to +do with his chances of being a great man. But, thinking that the Jew, +being so much his senior, must know best, he followed him quietly to +the table, and was soon deeply involved in his new study. + + + + + CHAPTER X. +OLIVER BECOMES BETTER ACQUAINTED WITH THE CHARACTERS OF HIS NEW +ASSOCIATES; AND PURCHASES EXPERIENCE AT A HIGH PRICE. BEING A SHORT, +BUT VERY IMPORTANT CHAPTER, IN THIS HISTORY + + +For many days, Oliver remained in the Jew’s room, picking the marks out +of the pocket-handkerchief, (of which a great number were brought +home,) and sometimes taking part in the game already described: which +the two boys and the Jew played, regularly, every morning. At length, +he began to languish for fresh air, and took many occasions of +earnestly entreating the old gentleman to allow him to go out to work +with his two companions. + +Oliver was rendered the more anxious to be actively employed, by what +he had seen of the stern morality of the old gentleman’s character. +Whenever the Dodger or Charley Bates came home at night, empty-handed, +he would expatiate with great vehemence on the misery of idle and lazy +habits; and would enforce upon them the necessity of an active life, by +sending them supperless to bed. On one occasion, indeed, he even went +so far as to knock them both down a flight of stairs; but this was +carrying out his virtuous precepts to an unusual extent. + +At length, one morning, Oliver obtained the permission he had so +eagerly sought. There had been no handkerchiefs to work upon, for two +or three days, and the dinners had been rather meagre. Perhaps these +were reasons for the old gentleman’s giving his assent; but, whether +they were or no, he told Oliver he might go, and placed him under the +joint guardianship of Charley Bates, and his friend the Dodger. + +The three boys sallied out; the Dodger with his coat-sleeves tucked up, +and his hat cocked, as usual; Master Bates sauntering along with his +hands in his pockets; and Oliver between them, wondering where they +were going, and what branch of manufacture he would be instructed in +first. + +The pace at which they went, was such a very lazy, ill-looking saunter, +that Oliver soon began to think his companions were going to deceive +the old gentleman, by not going to work at all. The Dodger had a +vicious propensity, too, of pulling the caps from the heads of small +boys and tossing them down areas; while Charley Bates exhibited some +very loose notions concerning the rights of property, by pilfering +divers apples and onions from the stalls at the kennel sides, and +thrusting them into pockets which were so surprisingly capacious, that +they seemed to undermine his whole suit of clothes in every direction. +These things looked so bad, that Oliver was on the point of declaring +his intention of seeking his way back, in the best way he could; when +his thoughts were suddenly directed into another channel, by a very +mysterious change of behaviour on the part of the Dodger. + +They were just emerging from a narrow court not far from the open +square in Clerkenwell, which is yet called, by some strange perversion +of terms, “The Green”: when the Dodger made a sudden stop; and, laying +his finger on his lip, drew his companions back again, with the +greatest caution and circumspection. + +“What’s the matter?” demanded Oliver. + +“Hush!” replied the Dodger. “Do you see that old cove at the +book-stall?” + +“The old gentleman over the way?” said Oliver. “Yes, I see him.” + +“He’ll do,” said the Dodger. + +“A prime plant,” observed Master Charley Bates. + +Oliver looked from one to the other, with the greatest surprise; but he +was not permitted to make any inquiries; for the two boys walked +stealthily across the road, and slunk close behind the old gentleman +towards whom his attention had been directed. Oliver walked a few paces +after them; and, not knowing whether to advance or retire, stood +looking on in silent amazement. + +The old gentleman was a very respectable-looking personage, with a +powdered head and gold spectacles. He was dressed in a bottle-green +coat with a black velvet collar; wore white trousers; and carried a +smart bamboo cane under his arm. He had taken up a book from the stall, +and there he stood, reading away, as hard as if he were in his +elbow-chair, in his own study. It is very possible that he fancied +himself there, indeed; for it was plain, from his abstraction, that he +saw not the book-stall, nor the street, nor the boys, nor, in short, +anything but the book itself: which he was reading straight through: +turning over the leaf when he got to the bottom of a page, beginning at +the top line of the next one, and going regularly on, with the greatest +interest and eagerness. + +What was Oliver’s horror and alarm as he stood a few paces off, looking +on with his eyelids as wide open as they would possibly go, to see the +Dodger plunge his hand into the old gentleman’s pocket, and draw from +thence a handkerchief! To see him hand the same to Charley Bates; and +finally to behold them, both running away round the corner at full +speed! + +In an instant the whole mystery of the hankerchiefs, and the watches, +and the jewels, and the Jew, rushed upon the boy’s mind. + +He stood, for a moment, with the blood so tingling through all his +veins from terror, that he felt as if he were in a burning fire; then, +confused and frightened, he took to his heels; and, not knowing what he +did, made off as fast as he could lay his feet to the ground. + +This was all done in a minute’s space. In the very instant when Oliver +began to run, the old gentleman, putting his hand to his pocket, and +missing his handkerchief, turned sharp round. Seeing the boy scudding +away at such a rapid pace, he very naturally concluded him to be the +depredator; and shouting “Stop thief!” with all his might, made off +after him, book in hand. + +But the old gentleman was not the only person who raised the +hue-and-cry. The Dodger and Master Bates, unwilling to attract public +attention by running down the open street, had merely retired into the +very first doorway round the corner. They no sooner heard the cry, and +saw Oliver running, than, guessing exactly how the matter stood, they +issued forth with great promptitude; and, shouting “Stop thief!” too, +joined in the pursuit like good citizens. + +Although Oliver had been brought up by philosophers, he was not +theoretically acquainted with the beautiful axiom that +self-preservation is the first law of nature. If he had been, perhaps +he would have been prepared for this. Not being prepared, however, it +alarmed him the more; so away he went like the wind, with the old +gentleman and the two boys roaring and shouting behind him. + +“Stop thief! Stop thief!” There is a magic in the sound. The tradesman +leaves his counter, and the car-man his waggon; the butcher throws down +his tray; the baker his basket; the milkman his pail; the errand-boy +his parcels; the school-boy his marbles; the paviour his pickaxe; the +child his battledore. Away they run, pell-mell, helter-skelter, +slap-dash: tearing, yelling, screaming, knocking down the passengers as +they turn the corners, rousing up the dogs, and astonishing the fowls: +and streets, squares, and courts, re-echo with the sound. + +“Stop thief! Stop thief!” The cry is taken up by a hundred voices, and +the crowd accumulate at every turning. Away they fly, splashing through +the mud, and rattling along the pavements: up go the windows, out run +the people, onward bear the mob, a whole audience desert Punch in the +very thickest of the plot, and, joining the rushing throng, swell the +shout, and lend fresh vigour to the cry, “Stop thief! Stop thief!” + +“Stop thief! Stop thief!” There is a passion _for hunting something_ +deeply implanted in the human breast. One wretched breathless child, +panting with exhaustion; terror in his looks; agony in his eyes; large +drops of perspiration streaming down his face; strains every nerve to +make head upon his pursuers; and as they follow on his track, and gain +upon him every instant, they hail his decreasing strength with joy. +“Stop thief!” Ay, stop him for God’s sake, were it only in mercy! + +Stopped at last! A clever blow. He is down upon the pavement; and the +crowd eagerly gather round him: each new comer, jostling and struggling +with the others to catch a glimpse. “Stand aside!” “Give him a little +air!” “Nonsense! he don’t deserve it.” “Where’s the gentleman?” “Here +he is, coming down the street.” “Make room there for the gentleman!” +“Is this the boy, sir!” “Yes.” + +Oliver lay, covered with mud and dust, and bleeding from the mouth, +looking wildly round upon the heap of faces that surrounded him, when +the old gentleman was officiously dragged and pushed into the circle by +the foremost of the pursuers. + +“Yes,” said the gentleman, “I am afraid it is the boy.” + +“Afraid!” murmured the crowd. “That’s a good ’un!” + +“Poor fellow!” said the gentleman, “he has hurt himself.” + +“_I_ did that, sir,” said a great lubberly fellow, stepping forward; +“and preciously I cut my knuckle agin’ his mouth. _I_ stopped him, +sir.” + +The fellow touched his hat with a grin, expecting something for his +pains; but, the old gentleman, eyeing him with an expression of +dislike, look anxiously round, as if he contemplated running away +himself: which it is very possible he might have attempted to do, and +thus have afforded another chase, had not a police officer (who is +generally the last person to arrive in such cases) at that moment made +his way through the crowd, and seized Oliver by the collar. + +“Come, get up,” said the man, roughly. + +“It wasn’t me indeed, sir. Indeed, indeed, it was two other boys,” said +Oliver, clasping his hands passionately, and looking round. “They are +here somewhere.” + +“Oh no, they ain’t,” said the officer. He meant this to be ironical, +but it was true besides; for the Dodger and Charley Bates had filed off +down the first convenient court they came to. + +“Come, get up!” + +“Don’t hurt him,” said the old gentleman, compassionately. + +“Oh no, I won’t hurt him,” replied the officer, tearing his jacket half +off his back, in proof thereof. “Come, I know you; it won’t do. Will +you stand upon your legs, you young devil?” + +Oliver, who could hardly stand, made a shift to raise himself on his +feet, and was at once lugged along the streets by the jacket-collar, at +a rapid pace. The gentleman walked on with them by the officer’s side; +and as many of the crowd as could achieve the feat, got a little ahead, +and stared back at Oliver from time to time. The boys shouted in +triumph; and on they went. + + + + + CHAPTER XI. +TREATS OF MR. FANG THE POLICE MAGISTRATE; AND FURNISHES A SLIGHT +SPECIMEN OF HIS MODE OF ADMINISTERING JUSTICE + + +The offence had been committed within the district, and indeed in the +immediate neighborhood of, a very notorious metropolitan police office. +The crowd had only the satisfaction of accompanying Oliver through two +or three streets, and down a place called Mutton Hill, when he was led +beneath a low archway, and up a dirty court, into this dispensary of +summary justice, by the back way. It was a small paved yard into which +they turned; and here they encountered a stout man with a bunch of +whiskers on his face, and a bunch of keys in his hand. + +“What’s the matter now?” said the man carelessly. + +“A young fogle-hunter,” replied the man who had Oliver in charge. + +“Are you the party that’s been robbed, sir?” inquired the man with the +keys. + +“Yes, I am,” replied the old gentleman; “but I am not sure that this +boy actually took the handkerchief. I—I would rather not press the +case.” + +“Must go before the magistrate now, sir,” replied the man. “His worship +will be disengaged in half a minute. Now, young gallows!” + +This was an invitation for Oliver to enter through a door which he +unlocked as he spoke, and which led into a stone cell. Here he was +searched; and nothing being found upon him, locked up. + +This cell was in shape and size something like an area cellar, only not +so light. It was most intolerably dirty; for it was Monday morning; and +it had been tenanted by six drunken people, who had been locked up, +elsewhere, since Saturday night. But this is little. In our +station-houses, men and women are every night confined on the most +trivial charges—the word is worth noting—in dungeons, compared with +which, those in Newgate, occupied by the most atrocious felons, tried, +found guilty, and under sentence of death, are palaces. Let any one who +doubts this, compare the two. + +The old gentleman looked almost as rueful as Oliver when the key grated +in the lock. He turned with a sigh to the book, which had been the +innocent cause of all this disturbance. + +“There is something in that boy’s face,” said the old gentleman to +himself as he walked slowly away, tapping his chin with the cover of +the book, in a thoughtful manner; “something that touches and interests +me. _Can_ he be innocent? He looked like— Bye the bye,” exclaimed the +old gentleman, halting very abruptly, and staring up into the sky, +“Bless my soul!—where have I seen something like that look before?” + +After musing for some minutes, the old gentleman walked, with the same +meditative face, into a back anteroom opening from the yard; and there, +retiring into a corner, called up before his mind’s eye a vast +amphitheatre of faces over which a dusky curtain had hung for many +years. “No,” said the old gentleman, shaking his head; “it must be +imagination.” + +He wandered over them again. He had called them into view, and it was +not easy to replace the shroud that had so long concealed them. There +were the faces of friends, and foes, and of many that had been almost +strangers peering intrusively from the crowd; there were the faces of +young and blooming girls that were now old women; there were faces that +the grave had changed and closed upon, but which the mind, superior to +its power, still dressed in their old freshness and beauty, calling +back the lustre of the eyes, the brightness of the smile, the beaming +of the soul through its mask of clay, and whispering of beauty beyond +the tomb, changed but to be heightened, and taken from earth only to be +set up as a light, to shed a soft and gentle glow upon the path to +Heaven. + +But the old gentleman could recall no one countenance of which Oliver’s +features bore a trace. So, he heaved a sigh over the recollections he +awakened; and being, happily for himself, an absent old gentleman, +buried them again in the pages of the musty book. + +He was roused by a touch on the shoulder, and a request from the man +with the keys to follow him into the office. He closed his book +hastily; and was at once ushered into the imposing presence of the +renowned Mr. Fang. + +The office was a front parlour, with a panelled wall. Mr. Fang sat +behind a bar, at the upper end; and on one side of the door was a +sort of wooden pen in which poor little Oliver was already deposited; +trembling very much at the awfulness of the scene. + +Mr. Fang was a lean, long-backed, stiff-necked, middle-sized man, with +no great quantity of hair, and what he had, growing on the back and +sides of his head. His face was stern, and much flushed. If he were +really not in the habit of drinking rather more than was exactly good +for him, he might have brought action against his countenance for +libel, and have recovered heavy damages. + +The old gentleman bowed respectfully; and advancing to the magistrate’s +desk, said, suiting the action to the word, “That is my name and +address, sir.” He then withdrew a pace or two; and, with another polite +and gentlemanly inclination of the head, waited to be questioned. + +Now, it so happened that Mr. Fang was at that moment perusing a leading +article in a newspaper of the morning, adverting to some recent +decision of his, and commending him, for the three hundred and fiftieth +time, to the special and particular notice of the Secretary of State +for the Home Department. He was out of temper; and he looked up with an +angry scowl. + +“Who are you?” said Mr. Fang. + +The old gentleman pointed, with some surprise, to his card. + +“Officer!” said Mr. Fang, tossing the card contemptuously away with the +newspaper. “Who is this fellow?” + +“My name, sir,” said the old gentleman, speaking _like_ a gentleman, +“my name, sir, is Brownlow. Permit me to inquire the name of the +magistrate who offers a gratuitous and unprovoked insult to a +respectable person, under the protection of the bench.” Saying this, +Mr. Brownlow looked around the office as if in search of some person +who would afford him the required information. + +“Officer!” said Mr. Fang, throwing the paper on one side, “what’s this +fellow charged with?” + +“He’s not charged at all, your worship,” replied the officer. “He +appears against this boy, your worship.” + +His worship knew this perfectly well; but it was a good annoyance, and +a safe one. + +“Appears against the boy, does he?” said Mr. Fang, surveying Mr. +Brownlow contemptuously from head to foot. “Swear him!” + +“Before I am sworn, I must beg to say one word,” said Mr. Brownlow; +“and that is, that I really never, without actual experience, could +have believed—” + +“Hold your tongue, sir!” said Mr. Fang, peremptorily. + +“I will not, sir!” replied the old gentleman. + +“Hold your tongue this instant, or I’ll have you turned out of the +office!” said Mr. Fang. “You’re an insolent impertinent fellow. How +dare you bully a magistrate!” + +“What!” exclaimed the old gentleman, reddening. + +“Swear this person!” said Fang to the clerk. “I’ll not hear another +word. Swear him.” + +Mr. Brownlow’s indignation was greatly roused; but reflecting perhaps, +that he might only injure the boy by giving vent to it, he suppressed +his feelings and submitted to be sworn at once. + +“Now,” said Fang, “what’s the charge against this boy? What have you +got to say, sir?” + +“I was standing at a bookstall—” Mr. Brownlow began. + +“Hold your tongue, sir,” said Mr. Fang. “Policeman! Where’s the +policeman? Here, swear this policeman. Now, policeman, what is this?” + +The policeman, with becoming humility, related how he had taken the +charge; how he had searched Oliver, and found nothing on his person; +and how that was all he knew about it. + +“Are there any witnesses?” inquired Mr. Fang. + +“None, your worship,” replied the policeman. + +Mr. Fang sat silent for some minutes, and then, turning round to the +prosecutor, said in a towering passion. + +“Do you mean to state what your complaint against this boy is, man, or +do you not? You have been sworn. Now, if you stand there, refusing to +give evidence, I’ll punish you for disrespect to the bench; I will, +by—” + +By what, or by whom, nobody knows, for the clerk and jailor coughed +very loud, just at the right moment; and the former dropped a heavy +book upon the floor, thus preventing the word from being +heard—accidently, of course. + +With many interruptions, and repeated insults, Mr. Brownlow contrived +to state his case; observing that, in the surprise of the moment, he +had run after the boy because he had seen him running away; and +expressing his hope that, if the magistrate should believe him, +although not actually the thief, to be connected with the thieves, he +would deal as leniently with him as justice would allow. + +“He has been hurt already,” said the old gentleman in conclusion. “And +I fear,” he added, with great energy, looking towards the bar, “I +really fear that he is ill.” + +“Oh! yes, I dare say!” said Mr. Fang, with a sneer. “Come, none of your +tricks here, you young vagabond; they won’t do. What’s your name?” + +Oliver tried to reply but his tongue failed him. He was deadly pale; +and the whole place seemed turning round and round. + +“What’s your name, you hardened scoundrel?” demanded Mr. Fang. +“Officer, what’s his name?” + +This was addressed to a bluff old fellow, in a striped waistcoat, who +was standing by the bar. He bent over Oliver, and repeated the inquiry; +but finding him really incapable of understanding the question; and +knowing that his not replying would only infuriate the magistrate the +more, and add to the severity of his sentence; he hazarded a guess. + +“He says his name’s Tom White, your worship,” said the kind-hearted +thief-taker. + +“Oh, he won’t speak out, won’t he?” said Fang. “Very well, very well. +Where does he live?” + +“Where he can, your worship,” replied the officer; again pretending to +receive Oliver’s answer. + +“Has he any parents?” inquired Mr. Fang. + +“He says they died in his infancy, your worship,” replied the officer: +hazarding the usual reply. + +At this point of the inquiry, Oliver raised his head; and, looking +round with imploring eyes, murmured a feeble prayer for a draught of +water. + +“Stuff and nonsense!” said Mr. Fang: “don’t try to make a fool of me.” + +“I think he really is ill, your worship,” remonstrated the officer. + +“I know better,” said Mr. Fang. + +“Take care of him, officer,” said the old gentleman, raising his hands +instinctively; “he’ll fall down.” + +“Stand away, officer,” cried Fang; “let him, if he likes.” + +Oliver availed himself of the kind permission, and fell to the floor in +a fainting fit. The men in the office looked at each other, but no one +dared to stir. + +“I knew he was shamming,” said Fang, as if this were incontestable +proof of the fact. “Let him lie there; he’ll soon be tired of that.” + +“How do you propose to deal with the case, sir?” inquired the clerk in +a low voice. + +“Summarily,” replied Mr. Fang. “He stands committed for three +months—hard labour of course. Clear the office.” + +The door was opened for this purpose, and a couple of men were +preparing to carry the insensible boy to his cell; when an elderly man +of decent but poor appearance, clad in an old suit of black, rushed +hastily into the office, and advanced towards the bench. + +“Stop, stop! don’t take him away! For Heaven’s sake stop a moment!” +cried the new comer, breathless with haste. + +Although the presiding Genii in such an office as this, exercise a +summary and arbitrary power over the liberties, the good name, the +character, almost the lives, of Her Majesty’s subjects, especially of +the poorer class; and although, within such walls, enough fantastic +tricks are daily played to make the angels blind with weeping; they are +closed to the public, save through the medium of the daily press. Mr. +Fang was consequently not a little indignant to see an unbidden guest +enter in such irreverent disorder. + +“What is this? Who is this? Turn this man out. Clear the office!” cried +Mr. Fang. + +“I _will_ speak,” cried the man; “I will not be turned out. I saw it +all. I keep the book-stall. I demand to be sworn. I will not be put +down. Mr. Fang, you must hear me. You must not refuse, sir.” + +The man was right. His manner was determined; and the matter was +growing rather too serious to be hushed up. + +“Swear the man,” growled Mr. Fang, with a very ill grace. “Now, man, +what have you got to say?” + +“This,” said the man: “I saw three boys: two others and the prisoner +here: loitering on the opposite side of the way, when this gentleman +was reading. The robbery was committed by another boy. I saw it done; +and I saw that this boy was perfectly amazed and stupified by it.” +Having by this time recovered a little breath, the worthy book-stall +keeper proceeded to relate, in a more coherent manner the exact +circumstances of the robbery. + +“Why didn’t you come here before?” said Fang, after a pause. + +“I hadn’t a soul to mind the shop,” replied the man. “Everybody who +could have helped me, had joined in the pursuit. I could get nobody +till five minutes ago; and I’ve run here all the way.” + +“The prosecutor was reading, was he?” inquired Fang, after another +pause. + +“Yes,” replied the man. “The very book he has in his hand.” + +“Oh, that book, eh?” said Fang. “Is it paid for?” + +“No, it is not,” replied the man, with a smile. + +“Dear me, I forgot all about it!” exclaimed the absent old gentleman, +innocently. + +“A nice person to prefer a charge against a poor boy!” said Fang, with +a comical effort to look humane. “I consider, sir, that you have +obtained possession of that book, under very suspicious and +disreputable circumstances; and you may think yourself very fortunate +that the owner of the property declines to prosecute. Let this be a +lesson to you, my man, or the law will overtake you yet. The boy is +discharged. Clear the office!” + +“D—n me!” cried the old gentleman, bursting out with the rage he had +kept down so long, “d—n me! I’ll—” + +“Clear the office!” said the magistrate. “Officers, do you hear? Clear +the office!” + +The mandate was obeyed; and the indignant Mr. Brownlow was conveyed +out, with the book in one hand, and the bamboo cane in the other: in a +perfect phrenzy of rage and defiance. He reached the yard; and his +passion vanished in a moment. Little Oliver Twist lay on his back on +the pavement, with his shirt unbuttoned, and his temples bathed with +water; his face a deadly white; and a cold tremble convulsing his whole +frame. + +“Poor boy, poor boy!” said Mr. Brownlow, bending over him. “Call a +coach, somebody, pray. Directly!” + +A coach was obtained, and Oliver having been carefully laid on the +seat, the old gentleman got in and sat himself on the other. + +“May I accompany you?” said the book-stall keeper, looking in. + +“Bless me, yes, my dear sir,” said Mr. Brownlow quickly. “I forgot you. +Dear, dear! I have this unhappy book still! Jump in. Poor fellow! +There’s no time to lose.” + +The book-stall keeper got into the coach; and away they drove. + + + + + CHAPTER XII. +IN WHICH OLIVER IS TAKEN BETTER CARE OF THAN HE EVER WAS BEFORE. AND IN +WHICH THE NARRATIVE REVERTS TO THE MERRY OLD GENTLEMAN AND HIS YOUTHFUL +FRIENDS. + + +The coach rattled away, over nearly the same ground as that which +Oliver had traversed when he first entered London in company with the +Dodger; and, turning a different way when it reached the Angel at +Islington, stopped at length before a neat house, in a quiet shady +street near Pentonville. Here, a bed was prepared, without loss of +time, in which Mr. Brownlow saw his young charge carefully and +comfortably deposited; and here, he was tended with a kindness and +solicitude that knew no bounds. + +But, for many days, Oliver remained insensible to all the goodness of +his new friends. The sun rose and sank, and rose and sank again, and +many times after that; and still the boy lay stretched on his uneasy +bed, dwindling away beneath the dry and wasting heat of fever. The worm +does not work more surely on the dead body, than does this slow +creeping fire upon the living frame. + +Weak, and thin, and pallid, he awoke at last from what seemed to have +been a long and troubled dream. Feebly raising himself in the bed, with +his head resting on his trembling arm, he looked anxiously around. + +“What room is this? Where have I been brought to?” said Oliver. “This +is not the place I went to sleep in.” + +He uttered these words in a feeble voice, being very faint and weak; +but they were overheard at once. The curtain at the bed’s head was +hastily drawn back, and a motherly old lady, very neatly and precisely +dressed, rose as she undrew it, from an arm-chair close by, in which +she had been sitting at needle-work. + +“Hush, my dear,” said the old lady softly. “You must be very quiet, or +you will be ill again; and you have been very bad,—as bad as bad could +be, pretty nigh. Lie down again; there’s a dear!” With those words, the +old lady very gently placed Oliver’s head upon the pillow; and, +smoothing back his hair from his forehead, looked so kindly and loving +in his face, that he could not help placing his little withered hand in +hers, and drawing it round his neck. + +“Save us!” said the old lady, with tears in her eyes. “What a grateful +little dear it is. Pretty creetur! What would his mother feel if she +had sat by him as I have, and could see him now!” + +“Perhaps she does see me,” whispered Oliver, folding his hands +together; “perhaps she has sat by me. I almost feel as if she had.” + +“That was the fever, my dear,” said the old lady mildly. + +“I suppose it was,” replied Oliver, “because heaven is a long way off; +and they are too happy there, to come down to the bedside of a poor +boy. But if she knew I was ill, she must have pitied me, even there; +for she was very ill herself before she died. She can’t know anything +about me though,” added Oliver after a moment’s silence. “If she had +seen me hurt, it would have made her sorrowful; and her face has always +looked sweet and happy, when I have dreamed of her.” + +The old lady made no reply to this; but wiping her eyes first, and her +spectacles, which lay on the counterpane, afterwards, as if they were +part and parcel of those features, brought some cool stuff for Oliver +to drink; and then, patting him on the cheek, told him he must lie very +quiet, or he would be ill again. + +So, Oliver kept very still; partly because he was anxious to obey the +kind old lady in all things; and partly, to tell the truth, because he +was completely exhausted with what he had already said. He soon fell +into a gentle doze, from which he was awakened by the light of a +candle: which, being brought near the bed, showed him a gentleman with +a very large and loud-ticking gold watch in his hand, who felt his +pulse, and said he was a great deal better. + +“You _are_ a great deal better, are you not, my dear?” said the +gentleman. + +“Yes, thank you, sir,” replied Oliver. + +“Yes, I know you are,” said the gentleman: “You’re hungry too, an’t +you?” + +“No, sir,” answered Oliver. + +“Hem!” said the gentleman. “No, I know you’re not. He is not hungry, +Mrs. Bedwin,” said the gentleman: looking very wise. + +The old lady made a respectful inclination of the head, which seemed to +say that she thought the doctor was a very clever man. The doctor +appeared much of the same opinion himself. + +“You feel sleepy, don’t you, my dear?” said the doctor. + +“No, sir,” replied Oliver. + +“No,” said the doctor, with a very shrewd and satisfied look. “You’re +not sleepy. Nor thirsty. Are you?” + +“Yes, sir, rather thirsty,” answered Oliver. + +“Just as I expected, Mrs. Bedwin,” said the doctor. “It’s very natural +that he should be thirsty. You may give him a little tea, ma’am, and +some dry toast without any butter. Don’t keep him too warm, ma’am; but +be careful that you don’t let him be too cold; will you have the +goodness?” + +The old lady dropped a curtsey. The doctor, after tasting the cool +stuff, and expressing a qualified approval of it, hurried away: his +boots creaking in a very important and wealthy manner as he went +downstairs. + +Oliver dozed off again, soon after this; when he awoke, it was nearly +twelve o’clock. The old lady tenderly bade him good-night shortly +afterwards, and left him in charge of a fat old woman who had just +come: bringing with her, in a little bundle, a small Prayer Book and a +large nightcap. Putting the latter on her head and the former on the +table, the old woman, after telling Oliver that she had come to sit up +with him, drew her chair close to the fire and went off into a series +of short naps, chequered at frequent intervals with sundry tumblings +forward, and divers moans and chokings. These, however, had no worse +effect than causing her to rub her nose very hard, and then fall asleep +again. + +And thus the night crept slowly on. Oliver lay awake for some time, +counting the little circles of light which the reflection of the +rushlight-shade threw upon the ceiling; or tracing with his languid +eyes the intricate pattern of the paper on the wall. The darkness and +the deep stillness of the room were very solemn; as they brought into +the boy’s mind the thought that death had been hovering there, for many +days and nights, and might yet fill it with the gloom and dread of his +awful presence, he turned his face upon the pillow, and fervently +prayed to Heaven. + +Gradually, he fell into that deep tranquil sleep which ease from recent +suffering alone imparts; that calm and peaceful rest which it is pain +to wake from. Who, if this were death, would be roused again to all the +struggles and turmoils of life; to all its cares for the present; its +anxieties for the future; more than all, its weary recollections of the +past! + +It had been bright day, for hours, when Oliver opened his eyes; he felt +cheerful and happy. The crisis of the disease was safely past. He +belonged to the world again. + +In three days’ time he was able to sit in an easy-chair, well propped +up with pillows; and, as he was still too weak to walk, Mrs. Bedwin had +him carried downstairs into the little housekeeper’s room, which +belonged to her. Having him set, here, by the fire-side, the good old +lady sat herself down too; and, being in a state of considerable +delight at seeing him so much better, forthwith began to cry most +violently. + +“Never mind me, my dear,” said the old lady; “I’m only having a regular +good cry. There; it’s all over now; and I’m quite comfortable.” + +“You’re very, very kind to me, ma’am,” said Oliver. + +“Well, never you mind that, my dear,” said the old lady; “that’s got +nothing to do with your broth; and it’s full time you had it; for the +doctor says Mr. Brownlow may come in to see you this morning; and we +must get up our best looks, because the better we look, the more he’ll +be pleased.” And with this, the old lady applied herself to warming up, +in a little saucepan, a basin full of broth: strong enough, Oliver +thought, to furnish an ample dinner, when reduced to the regulation +strength, for three hundred and fifty paupers, at the lowest +computation. + +“Are you fond of pictures, dear?” inquired the old lady, seeing that +Oliver had fixed his eyes, most intently, on a portrait which hung +against the wall; just opposite his chair. + +“I don’t quite know, ma’am,” said Oliver, without taking his eyes from +the canvas; “I have seen so few that I hardly know. What a beautiful, +mild face that lady’s is!” + +“Ah!” said the old lady, “painters always make ladies out prettier than +they are, or they wouldn’t get any custom, child. The man that invented +the machine for taking likenesses might have known _that_ would never +succeed; it’s a deal too honest. A deal,” said the old lady, laughing +very heartily at her own acuteness. + +“Is—is that a likeness, ma’am?” said Oliver. + +“Yes,” said the old lady, looking up for a moment from the broth; +“that’s a portrait.” + +“Whose, ma’am?” asked Oliver. + +“Why, really, my dear, I don’t know,” answered the old lady in a +good-humoured manner. “It’s not a likeness of anybody that you or I +know, I expect. It seems to strike your fancy, dear.” + +“It is so pretty,” replied Oliver. + +“Why, sure you’re not afraid of it?” said the old lady: observing in +great surprise, the look of awe with which the child regarded the +painting. + +“Oh no, no,” returned Oliver quickly; “but the eyes look so sorrowful; +and where I sit, they seem fixed upon me. It makes my heart beat,” +added Oliver in a low voice, “as if it was alive, and wanted to speak +to me, but couldn’t.” + +“Lord save us!” exclaimed the old lady, starting; “don’t talk in that +way, child. You’re weak and nervous after your illness. Let me wheel +your chair round to the other side; and then you won’t see it. There!” +said the old lady, suiting the action to the word; “you don’t see it +now, at all events.” + +Oliver _did_ see it in his mind’s eye as distinctly as if he had not +altered his position; but he thought it better not to worry the kind +old lady; so he smiled gently when she looked at him; and Mrs. Bedwin, +satisfied that he felt more comfortable, salted and broke bits of +toasted bread into the broth, with all the bustle befitting so solemn a +preparation. Oliver got through it with extraordinary expedition. He +had scarcely swallowed the last spoonful, when there came a soft rap at +the door. “Come in,” said the old lady; and in walked Mr. Brownlow. + +Now, the old gentleman came in as brisk as need be; but, he had no +sooner raised his spectacles on his forehead, and thrust his hands +behind the skirts of his dressing-gown to take a good long look at +Oliver, than his countenance underwent a very great variety of odd +contortions. Oliver looked very worn and shadowy from sickness, and +made an ineffectual attempt to stand up, out of respect to his +benefactor, which terminated in his sinking back into the chair again; +and the fact is, if the truth must be told, that Mr. Brownlow’s heart, +being large enough for any six ordinary old gentlemen of humane +disposition, forced a supply of tears into his eyes, by some hydraulic +process which we are not sufficiently philosophical to be in a +condition to explain. + +“Poor boy, poor boy!” said Mr. Brownlow, clearing his throat. “I’m +rather hoarse this morning, Mrs. Bedwin. I’m afraid I have caught +cold.” + +“I hope not, sir,” said Mrs. Bedwin. “Everything you have had, has been +well aired, sir.” + +“I don’t know, Bedwin. I don’t know,” said Mr. Brownlow; “I rather +think I had a damp napkin at dinner-time yesterday; but never mind +that. How do you feel, my dear?” + +“Very happy, sir,” replied Oliver. “And very grateful indeed, sir, for +your goodness to me.” + +“Good boy,” said Mr. Brownlow, stoutly. “Have you given him any +nourishment, Bedwin? Any slops, eh?” + +“He has just had a basin of beautiful strong broth, sir,” replied Mrs. +Bedwin, drawing herself up slightly, and laying strong emphasis on the +last word, to intimate that between slops, and broth well compounded, +there existed no affinity or connection whatsoever. + +“Ugh!” said Mr. Brownlow, with a slight shudder; “a couple of glasses +of port wine would have done him a great deal more good. Wouldn’t they, +Tom White, eh?” + +“My name is Oliver, sir,” replied the little invalid with a look of +great astonishment. + +“Oliver,” said Mr. Brownlow; “Oliver what? Oliver White, eh?” + +“No, sir, Twist, Oliver Twist.” + +“Queer name!” said the old gentleman. “What made you tell the +magistrate your name was White?” + +“I never told him so, sir,” returned Oliver in amazement. + +This sounded so like a falsehood, that the old gentleman looked +somewhat sternly in Oliver’s face. It was impossible to doubt him; +there was truth in every one of its thin and sharpened lineaments. + +“Some mistake,” said Mr. Brownlow. But, although his motive for looking +steadily at Oliver no longer existed, the old idea of the resemblance +between his features and some familiar face came upon him so strongly, +that he could not withdraw his gaze. + +“I hope you are not angry with me, sir?” said Oliver, raising his eyes +beseechingly. + +“No, no,” replied the old gentleman. “Why! what’s this? Bedwin, look +there!” + +As he spoke, he pointed hastily to the picture over Oliver’s head, and +then to the boy’s face. There was its living copy. The eyes, the head, +the mouth; every feature was the same. The expression was, for the +instant, so precisely alike, that the minutest line seemed copied with +startling accuracy! + +Oliver knew not the cause of this sudden exclamation; for, not being +strong enough to bear the start it gave him, he fainted away. A +weakness on his part, which affords the narrative an opportunity of +relieving the reader from suspense, in behalf of the two young pupils +of the Merry Old Gentleman; and of recording— + +That when the Dodger, and his accomplished friend Master Bates, joined +in the hue-and-cry which was raised at Oliver’s heels, in consequence +of their executing an illegal conveyance of Mr. Brownlow’s personal +property, as has been already described, they were actuated by a very +laudable and becoming regard for themselves; and forasmuch as the +freedom of the subject and the liberty of the individual are among the +first and proudest boasts of a true-hearted Englishman, so, I need +hardly beg the reader to observe, that this action should tend to exalt +them in the opinion of all public and patriotic men, in almost as great +a degree as this strong proof of their anxiety for their own +preservation and safety goes to corroborate and confirm the little code +of laws which certain profound and sound-judging philosophers have laid +down as the main-springs of all Nature’s deeds and actions: the said +philosophers very wisely reducing the good lady’s proceedings to +matters of maxim and theory: and, by a very neat and pretty compliment +to her exalted wisdom and understanding, putting entirely out of sight +any considerations of heart, or generous impulse and feeling. For, +these are matters totally beneath a female who is acknowledged by +universal admission to be far above the numerous little foibles and +weaknesses of her sex. + +If I wanted any further proof of the strictly philosophical nature of +the conduct of these young gentlemen in their very delicate +predicament, I should at once find it in the fact (also recorded in a +foregoing part of this narrative), of their quitting the pursuit, when +the general attention was fixed upon Oliver; and making immediately for +their home by the shortest possible cut. Although I do not mean to +assert that it is usually the practice of renowned and learned sages, +to shorten the road to any great conclusion (their course indeed being +rather to lengthen the distance, by various circumlocutions and +discursive staggerings, like unto those in which drunken men under the +pressure of a too mighty flow of ideas, are prone to indulge); still, I +do mean to say, and do say distinctly, that it is the invariable +practice of many mighty philosophers, in carrying out their theories, +to evince great wisdom and foresight in providing against every +possible contingency which can be supposed at all likely to affect +themselves. Thus, to do a great right, you may do a little wrong; and +you may take any means which the end to be attained, will justify; the +amount of the right, or the amount of the wrong, or indeed the +distinction between the two, being left entirely to the philosopher +concerned, to be settled and determined by his clear, comprehensive, +and impartial view of his own particular case. + +It was not until the two boys had scoured, with great rapidity, through +a most intricate maze of narrow streets and courts, that they ventured +to halt beneath a low and dark archway. Having remained silent here, +just long enough to recover breath to speak, Master Bates uttered an +exclamation of amusement and delight; and, bursting into an +uncontrollable fit of laughter, flung himself upon a doorstep, and +rolled thereon in a transport of mirth. + +“What’s the matter?” inquired the Dodger. + +“Ha! ha! ha!” roared Charley Bates. + +“Hold your noise,” remonstrated the Dodger, looking cautiously round. +“Do you want to be grabbed, stupid?” + +“I can’t help it,” said Charley, “I can’t help it! To see him splitting +away at that pace, and cutting round the corners, and knocking up +again’ the posts, and starting on again as if he was made of iron as +well as them, and me with the wipe in my pocket, singing out arter +him—oh, my eye!” The vivid imagination of Master Bates presented the +scene before him in too strong colours. As he arrived at this +apostrophe, he again rolled upon the door-step, and laughed louder than +before. + +“What’ll Fagin say?” inquired the Dodger; taking advantage of the next +interval of breathlessness on the part of his friend to propound the +question. + +“What?” repeated Charley Bates. + +“Ah, what?” said the Dodger. + +“Why, what should he say?” inquired Charley: stopping rather suddenly +in his merriment; for the Dodger’s manner was impressive. “What should +he say?” + +Mr. Dawkins whistled for a couple of minutes; then, taking off his hat, +scratched his head, and nodded thrice. + +“What do you mean?” said Charley. + +“Toor rul lol loo, gammon and spinnage, the frog he wouldn’t, and high +cockolorum,” said the Dodger: with a slight sneer on his intellectual +countenance. + +This was explanatory, but not satisfactory. Master Bates felt it so; +and again said, “What do you mean?” + +The Dodger made no reply; but putting his hat on again, and gathering +the skirts of his long-tailed coat under his arm, thrust his tongue +into his cheek, slapped the bridge of his nose some half-dozen times in +a familiar but expressive manner, and turning on his heel, slunk down +the court. Master Bates followed, with a thoughtful countenance. + +The noise of footsteps on the creaking stairs, a few minutes after the +occurrence of this conversation, roused the merry old gentleman as he +sat over the fire with a saveloy and a small loaf in his hand; a +pocket-knife in his right; and a pewter pot on the trivet. There was a +rascally smile on his white face as he turned round, and looking +sharply out from under his thick red eyebrows, bent his ear towards the +door, and listened. + +“Why, how’s this?” muttered the Jew: changing countenance; “only two of +’em? Where’s the third? They can’t have got into trouble. Hark!” + +The footsteps approached nearer; they reached the landing. The door was +slowly opened; and the Dodger and Charley Bates entered, closing it +behind them. + + + + + CHAPTER XIII. +SOME NEW ACQUAINTANCES ARE INTRODUCED TO THE INTELLIGENT READER, +CONNECTED WITH WHOM VARIOUS PLEASANT MATTERS ARE RELATED, APPERTAINING +TO THIS HISTORY + + +“Where’s Oliver?” said the Jew, rising with a menacing look. “Where’s +the boy?” + +The young thieves eyed their preceptor as if they were alarmed at his +violence; and looked uneasily at each other. But they made no reply. + +“What’s become of the boy?” said the Jew, seizing the Dodger tightly by +the collar, and threatening him with horrid imprecations. “Speak out, +or I’ll throttle you!” + +Mr. Fagin looked so very much in earnest, that Charley Bates, who +deemed it prudent in all cases to be on the safe side, and who +conceived it by no means improbable that it might be his turn to be +throttled second, dropped upon his knees, and raised a loud, +well-sustained, and continuous roar—something between a mad bull and a +speaking trumpet. + +“Will you speak?” thundered the Jew: shaking the Dodger so much that +his keeping in the big coat at all, seemed perfectly miraculous. + +“Why, the traps have got him, and that’s all about it,” said the +Dodger, sullenly. “Come, let go o’ me, will you!” And, swinging +himself, at one jerk, clean out of the big coat, which he left in the +Jew’s hands, the Dodger snatched up the toasting fork, and made a pass +at the merry old gentleman’s waistcoat; which, if it had taken effect, +would have let a little more merriment out than could have been easily +replaced. + +The Jew stepped back in this emergency, with more agility than could +have been anticipated in a man of his apparent decrepitude; and, +seizing up the pot, prepared to hurl it at his assailant’s head. But +Charley Bates, at this moment, calling his attention by a perfectly +terrific howl, he suddenly altered its destination, and flung it full +at that young gentleman. + +“Why, what the blazes is in the wind now!” growled a deep voice. “Who +pitched that ’ere at me? It’s well it’s the beer, and not the pot, as +hit me, or I’d have settled somebody. I might have know’d, as nobody +but an infernal, rich, plundering, thundering old Jew could afford to +throw away any drink but water—and not that, unless he done the River +Company every quarter. Wot’s it all about, Fagin? D—me, if my +neck-handkercher an’t lined with beer! Come in, you sneaking warmint; +wot are you stopping outside for, as if you was ashamed of your master! +Come in!” + +The man who growled out these words, was a stoutly-built fellow of +about five-and-thirty, in a black velveteen coat, very soiled drab +breeches, lace-up half boots, and grey cotton stockings which inclosed +a bulky pair of legs, with large swelling calves;—the kind of legs, +which in such costume, always look in an unfinished and incomplete +state without a set of fetters to garnish them. He had a brown hat on +his head, and a dirty belcher handkerchief round his neck: with the +long frayed ends of which he smeared the beer from his face as he +spoke. He disclosed, when he had done so, a broad heavy countenance +with a beard of three days’ growth, and two scowling eyes; one of which +displayed various parti-coloured symptoms of having been recently +damaged by a blow. + +“Come in, d’ye hear?” growled this engaging ruffian. + +A white shaggy dog, with his face scratched and torn in twenty +different places, skulked into the room. + +“Why didn’t you come in afore?” said the man. “You’re getting too proud +to own me afore company, are you? Lie down!” + +This command was accompanied with a kick, which sent the animal to the +other end of the room. He appeared well used to it, however; for he +coiled himself up in a corner very quietly, without uttering a sound, +and winking his very ill-looking eyes twenty times in a minute, +appeared to occupy himself in taking a survey of the apartment. + +“What are you up to? Ill-treating the boys, you covetous, avaricious, +in-sa-ti-a-ble old fence?” said the man, seating himself deliberately. +“I wonder they don’t murder you! I would if I was them. If I’d been +your ’prentice, I’d have done it long ago, and—no, I couldn’t have sold +you afterwards, for you’re fit for nothing but keeping as a curiousity +of ugliness in a glass bottle, and I suppose they don’t blow glass +bottles large enough.” + +“Hush! hush! Mr. Sikes,” said the Jew, trembling; “don’t speak so +loud!” + +“None of your mistering,” replied the ruffian; “you always mean +mischief when you come that. You know my name: out with it! I shan’t +disgrace it when the time comes.” + +“Well, well, then—Bill Sikes,” said the Jew, with abject humility. “You +seem out of humour, Bill.” + +“Perhaps I am,” replied Sikes; “I should think you was rather out of +sorts too, unless you mean as little harm when you throw pewter pots +about, as you do when you blab and—” + +“Are you mad?” said the Jew, catching the man by the sleeve, and +pointing towards the boys. + +Mr. Sikes contented himself with tying an imaginary knot under his left +ear, and jerking his head over on the right shoulder; a piece of dumb +show which the Jew appeared to understand perfectly. He then, in cant +terms, with which his whole conversation was plentifully besprinkled, +but which would be quite unintelligible if they were recorded here, +demanded a glass of liquor. + +“And mind you don’t poison it,” said Mr. Sikes, laying his hat upon the +table. + +This was said in jest; but if the speaker could have seen the evil leer +with which the Jew bit his pale lip as he turned round to the cupboard, +he might have thought the caution not wholly unnecessary, or the wish +(at all events) to improve upon the distiller’s ingenuity not very far +from the old gentleman’s merry heart. + +After swallowing two of three glasses of spirits, Mr. Sikes +condescended to take some notice of the young gentlemen; which gracious +act led to a conversation, in which the cause and manner of Oliver’s +capture were circumstantially detailed, with such alterations and +improvements on the truth, as to the Dodger appeared most advisable +under the circumstances. + +“I’m afraid,” said the Jew, “that he may say something which will get +us into trouble.” + +“That’s very likely,” returned Sikes with a malicious grin. “You’re +blowed upon, Fagin.” + +“And I’m afraid, you see,” added the Jew, speaking as if he had not +noticed the interruption; and regarding the other closely as he did +so,—“I’m afraid that, if the game was up with us, it might be up with a +good many more, and that it would come out rather worse for you than it +would for me, my dear.” + +The man started, and turned round upon the Jew. But the old gentleman’s +shoulders were shrugged up to his ears; and his eyes were vacantly +staring on the opposite wall. + +There was a long pause. Every member of the respectable coterie +appeared plunged in his own reflections; not excepting the dog, who by +a certain malicious licking of his lips seemed to be meditating an +attack upon the legs of the first gentleman or lady he might encounter +in the streets when he went out. + +“Somebody must find out wot’s been done at the office,” said Mr. Sikes +in a much lower tone than he had taken since he came in. + +The Jew nodded assent. + +“If he hasn’t peached, and is committed, there’s no fear till he comes +out again,” said Mr. Sikes, “and then he must be taken care on. You +must get hold of him somehow.” + +Again the Jew nodded. + +The prudence of this line of action, indeed, was obvious; but, +unfortunately, there was one very strong objection to its being +adopted. This was, that the Dodger, and Charley Bates, and Fagin, and +Mr. William Sikes, happened, one and all, to entertain a violent and +deeply-rooted antipathy to going near a police-office on any ground or +pretext whatever. + +How long they might have sat and looked at each other, in a state of +uncertainty not the most pleasant of its kind, it is difficult to +guess. It is not necessary to make any guesses on the subject, however; +for the sudden entrance of the two young ladies whom Oliver had seen on +a former occasion, caused the conversation to flow afresh. + +“The very thing!” said the Jew. “Bet will go; won’t you, my dear?” + +“Wheres?” inquired the young lady. + +“Only just up to the office, my dear,” said the Jew coaxingly. + +It is due to the young lady to say that she did not positively affirm +that she would not, but that she merely expressed an emphatic and +earnest desire to be “blessed” if she would; a polite and delicate +evasion of the request, which shows the young lady to have been +possessed of that natural good breeding which cannot bear to inflict +upon a fellow-creature, the pain of a direct and pointed refusal. + +The Jew’s countenance fell. He turned from this young lady, who was +gaily, not to say gorgeously attired, in a red gown, green boots, and +yellow curl-papers, to the other female. + +“Nancy, my dear,” said the Jew in a soothing manner, “what do _you_ +say?” + +“That it won’t do; so it’s no use a-trying it on, Fagin,” replied +Nancy. + +“What do you mean by that?” said Mr. Sikes, looking up in a surly +manner. + +“What I say, Bill,” replied the lady collectedly. + +“Why, you’re just the very person for it,” reasoned Mr. Sikes: “nobody +about here knows anything of you.” + +“And as I don’t want ’em to, neither,” replied Nancy in the same +composed manner, “it’s rather more no than yes with me, Bill.” + +“She’ll go, Fagin,” said Sikes. + +“No, she won’t, Fagin,” said Nancy. + +“Yes, she will, Fagin,” said Sikes. + +And Mr. Sikes was right. By dint of alternate threats, promises, and +bribes, the lady in question was ultimately prevailed upon to undertake +the commission. She was not, indeed, withheld by the same +considerations as her agreeable friend; for, having recently removed +into the neighborhood of Field Lane from the remote but genteel suburb +of Ratcliffe, she was not under the same apprehension of being +recognised by any of her numerous acquaintances. + +Accordingly, with a clean white apron tied over her gown, and her +curl-papers tucked up under a straw bonnet,—both articles of dress +being provided from the Jew’s inexhaustible stock,—Miss Nancy prepared +to issue forth on her errand. + +“Stop a minute, my dear,” said the Jew, producing, a little covered +basket. “Carry that in one hand. It looks more respectable, my dear.” + +“Give her a door-key to carry in her t’other one, Fagin,” said Sikes; +“it looks real and genivine like.” + +“Yes, yes, my dear, so it does,” said the Jew, hanging a large +street-door key on the forefinger of the young lady’s right hand. +“There; very good! Very good indeed, my dear!” said the Jew, rubbing +his hands. + +“Oh, my brother! My poor, dear, sweet, innocent little brother!” +exclaimed Nancy, bursting into tears, and wringing the little basket +and the street-door key in an agony of distress. “What has become of +him! Where have they taken him to! Oh, do have pity, and tell me what’s +been done with the dear boy, gentlemen; do, gentlemen, if you please, +gentlemen!” + +Having uttered those words in a most lamentable and heart-broken tone: +to the immeasurable delight of her hearers: Miss Nancy paused, winked +to the company, nodded smilingly round, and disappeared. + +“Ah, she’s a clever girl, my dears,” said the Jew, turning round to his +young friends, and shaking his head gravely, as if in mute admonition +to them to follow the bright example they had just beheld. + +“She’s a honour to her sex,” said Mr. Sikes, filling his glass, and +smiting the table with his enormous fist. “Here’s her health, and +wishing they was all like her!” + +While these, and many other encomiums, were being passed on the +accomplished Nancy, that young lady made the best of her way to the +police-office; whither, notwithstanding a little natural timidity +consequent upon walking through the streets alone and unprotected, she +arrived in perfect safety shortly afterwards. + +Entering by the back way, she tapped softly with the key at one of the +cell-doors, and listened. There was no sound within: so she coughed and +listened again. Still there was no reply: so she spoke. + +“Nolly, dear?” murmured Nancy in a gentle voice; “Nolly?” + +There was nobody inside but a miserable shoeless criminal, who had been +taken up for playing the flute, and who, the offence against society +having been clearly proved, had been very properly committed by Mr. +Fang to the House of Correction for one month; with the appropriate and +amusing remark that since he had so much breath to spare, it would be +more wholesomely expended on the treadmill than in a musical +instrument. He made no answer: being occupied mentally bewailing the +loss of the flute, which had been confiscated for the use of the +county: so Nancy passed on to the next cell, and knocked there. + +“Well!” cried a faint and feeble voice. + +“Is there a little boy here?” inquired Nancy, with a preliminary sob. + +“No,” replied the voice; “God forbid.” + +This was a vagrant of sixty-five, who was going to prison for _not_ +playing the flute; or, in other words, for begging in the streets, and +doing nothing for his livelihood. In the next cell was another man, who +was going to the same prison for hawking tin saucepans without license; +thereby doing something for his living, in defiance of the +Stamp-office. + +But, as neither of these criminals answered to the name of Oliver, or +knew anything about him, Nancy made straight up to the bluff officer in +the striped waistcoat; and with the most piteous wailings and +lamentations, rendered more piteous by a prompt and efficient use of +the street-door key and the little basket, demanded her own dear +brother. + +“I haven’t got him, my dear,” said the old man. + +“Where is he?” screamed Nancy, in a distracted manner. + +“Why, the gentleman’s got him,” replied the officer. + +“What gentleman! Oh, gracious heavens! What gentleman?” exclaimed +Nancy. + +In reply to this incoherent questioning, the old man informed the +deeply affected sister that Oliver had been taken ill in the office, +and discharged in consequence of a witness having proved the robbery to +have been committed by another boy, not in custody; and that the +prosecutor had carried him away, in an insensible condition, to his own +residence: of and concerning which, all the informant knew was, that it +was somewhere in Pentonville, he having heard that word mentioned in +the directions to the coachman. + +In a dreadful state of doubt and uncertainty, the agonised young woman +staggered to the gate, and then, exchanging her faltering walk for a +swift run, returned by the most devious and complicated route she could +think of, to the domicile of the Jew. + +Mr. Bill Sikes no sooner heard the account of the expedition delivered, +than he very hastily called up the white dog, and, putting on his hat, +expeditiously departed: without devoting any time to the formality of +wishing the company good-morning. + +“We must know where he is, my dears; he must be found,” said the Jew +greatly excited. “Charley, do nothing but skulk about, till you bring +home some news of him! Nancy, my dear, I must have him found. I trust +to you, my dear,—to you and the Artful for everything! Stay, stay,” +added the Jew, unlocking a drawer with a shaking hand; “there’s money, +my dears. I shall shut up this shop tonight. You’ll know where to find +me! Don’t stop here a minute. Not an instant, my dears!” + +With these words, he pushed them from the room: and carefully +double-locking and barring the door behind them, drew from its place of +concealment the box which he had unintentionally disclosed to Oliver. +Then, he hastily proceeded to dispose the watches and jewellery beneath +his clothing. + +A rap at the door startled him in this occupation. “Who’s there?” he +cried in a shrill tone. + +“Me!” replied the voice of the Dodger, through the key-hole. + +“What now?” cried the Jew impatiently. + +“Is he to be kidnapped to the other ken, Nancy says?” inquired the +Dodger. + +“Yes,” replied the Jew, “wherever she lays hands on him. Find him, find +him out, that’s all. I shall know what to do next; never fear.” + +The boy murmured a reply of intelligence: and hurried downstairs after +his companions. + +“He has not peached so far,” said the Jew as he pursued his occupation. +“If he means to blab us among his new friends, we may stop his mouth +yet.” + + + + + CHAPTER XIV. +COMPRISING FURTHER PARTICULARS OF OLIVER’S STAY AT MR. BROWNLOW’S, WITH +THE REMARKABLE PREDICTION WHICH ONE MR. GRIMWIG UTTERED CONCERNING HIM, +WHEN HE WENT OUT ON AN ERRAND + + +Oliver soon recovering from the fainting-fit into which Mr. Brownlow’s +abrupt exclamation had thrown him, the subject of the picture was +carefully avoided, both by the old gentleman and Mrs. Bedwin, in the +conversation that ensued: which indeed bore no reference to Oliver’s +history or prospects, but was confined to such topics as might amuse +without exciting him. He was still too weak to get up to breakfast; +but, when he came down into the housekeeper’s room next day, his first +act was to cast an eager glance at the wall, in the hope of again +looking on the face of the beautiful lady. His expectations were +disappointed, however, for the picture had been removed. + +“Ah!” said the housekeeper, watching the direction of Oliver’s eyes. +“It is gone, you see.” + +“I see it is ma’am,” replied Oliver. “Why have they taken it away?” + +“It has been taken down, child, because Mr. Brownlow said, that as it +seemed to worry you, perhaps it might prevent your getting well, you +know,” rejoined the old lady. + +“Oh, no, indeed. It didn’t worry me, ma’am,” said Oliver. “I liked to +see it. I quite loved it.” + +“Well, well!” said the old lady, good-humouredly; “you get well as fast +as ever you can, dear, and it shall be hung up again. There! I promise +you that! Now, let us talk about something else.” + +This was all the information Oliver could obtain about the picture at +that time. As the old lady had been so kind to him in his illness, he +endeavoured to think no more of the subject just then; so he listened +attentively to a great many stories she told him, about an amiable and +handsome daughter of hers, who was married to an amiable and handsome +man, and lived in the country; and about a son, who was clerk to a +merchant in the West Indies; and who was, also, such a good young man, +and wrote such dutiful letters home four times a year, that it brought +the tears into her eyes to talk about them. When the old lady had +expatiated, a long time, on the excellences of her children, and the +merits of her kind good husband besides, who had been dead and gone, +poor dear soul! just six-and-twenty years, it was time to have tea. +After tea she began to teach Oliver cribbage: which he learnt as +quickly as she could teach: and at which game they played, with great +interest and gravity, until it was time for the invalid to have some +warm wine and water, with a slice of dry toast, and then to go cosily +to bed. + +They were happy days, those of Oliver’s recovery. Everything was so +quiet, and neat, and orderly; everybody so kind and gentle; that after +the noise and turbulence in the midst of which he had always lived, it +seemed like Heaven itself. He was no sooner strong enough to put his +clothes on, properly, than Mr. Brownlow caused a complete new suit, and +a new cap, and a new pair of shoes, to be provided for him. As Oliver +was told that he might do what he liked with the old clothes, he gave +them to a servant who had been very kind to him, and asked her to sell +them to a Jew, and keep the money for herself. This she very readily +did; and, as Oliver looked out of the parlour window, and saw the Jew +roll them up in his bag and walk away, he felt quite delighted to think +that they were safely gone, and that there was now no possible danger +of his ever being able to wear them again. They were sad rags, to tell +the truth; and Oliver had never had a new suit before. + +One evening, about a week after the affair of the picture, as he was +sitting talking to Mrs. Bedwin, there came a message down from Mr. +Brownlow, that if Oliver Twist felt pretty well, he should like to see +him in his study, and talk to him a little while. + +“Bless us, and save us! Wash your hands, and let me part your hair +nicely for you, child,” said Mrs. Bedwin. “Dear heart alive! If we had +known he would have asked for you, we would have put you a clean collar +on, and made you as smart as sixpence!” + +Oliver did as the old lady bade him; and, although she lamented +grievously, meanwhile, that there was not even time to crimp the little +frill that bordered his shirt-collar; he looked so delicate and +handsome, despite that important personal advantage, that she went so +far as to say: looking at him with great complacency from head to foot, +that she really didn’t think it would have been possible, on the +longest notice, to have made much difference in him for the better. + +Thus encouraged, Oliver tapped at the study door. On Mr. Brownlow +calling to him to come in, he found himself in a little back room, +quite full of books, with a window, looking into some pleasant little +gardens. There was a table drawn up before the window, at which Mr. +Brownlow was seated reading. When he saw Oliver, he pushed the book +away from him, and told him to come near the table, and sit down. +Oliver complied; marvelling where the people could be found to read +such a great number of books as seemed to be written to make the world +wiser. Which is still a marvel to more experienced people than Oliver +Twist, every day of their lives. + +“There are a good many books, are there not, my boy?” said Mr. +Brownlow, observing the curiosity with which Oliver surveyed the +shelves that reached from the floor to the ceiling. + +“A great number, sir,” replied Oliver. “I never saw so many.” + +“You shall read them, if you behave well,” said the old gentleman +kindly; “and you will like that, better than looking at the +outsides,—that is, some cases; because there are books of which the +backs and covers are by far the best parts.” + +“I suppose they are those heavy ones, sir,” said Oliver, pointing to +some large quartos, with a good deal of gilding about the binding. + +“Not always those,” said the old gentleman, patting Oliver on the head, +and smiling as he did so; “there are other equally heavy ones, though +of a much smaller size. How should you like to grow up a clever man, +and write books, eh?” + +“I think I would rather read them, sir,” replied Oliver. + +“What! wouldn’t you like to be a book-writer?” said the old gentleman. + +Oliver considered a little while; and at last said, he should think it +would be a much better thing to be a book-seller; upon which the old +gentleman laughed heartily, and declared he had said a very good thing. +Which Oliver felt glad to have done, though he by no means knew what it +was. + +“Well, well,” said the old gentleman, composing his features. “Don’t be +afraid! We won’t make an author of you, while there’s an honest trade +to be learnt, or brick-making to turn to.” + +“Thank you, sir,” said Oliver. At the earnest manner of his reply, the +old gentleman laughed again; and said something about a curious +instinct, which Oliver, not understanding, paid no very great attention +to. + +“Now,” said Mr. Brownlow, speaking if possible in a kinder, but at the +same time in a much more serious manner, than Oliver had ever known him +assume yet, “I want you to pay great attention, my boy, to what I am +going to say. I shall talk to you without any reserve; because I am +sure you are well able to understand me, as many older persons would +be.” + +“Oh, don’t tell you are going to send me away, sir, pray!” exclaimed +Oliver, alarmed at the serious tone of the old gentleman’s +commencement! “Don’t turn me out of doors to wander in the streets +again. Let me stay here, and be a servant. Don’t send me back to the +wretched place I came from. Have mercy upon a poor boy, sir!” + +“My dear child,” said the old gentleman, moved by the warmth of +Oliver’s sudden appeal; “you need not be afraid of my deserting you, +unless you give me cause.” + +“I never, never will, sir,” interposed Oliver. + +“I hope not,” rejoined the old gentleman. “I do not think you ever +will. I have been deceived, before, in the objects whom I have +endeavoured to benefit; but I feel strongly disposed to trust you, +nevertheless; and I am more interested in your behalf than I can well +account for, even to myself. The persons on whom I have bestowed my +dearest love, lie deep in their graves; but, although the happiness and +delight of my life lie buried there too, I have not made a coffin of my +heart, and sealed it up, forever, on my best affections. Deep +affliction has but strengthened and refined them.” + +As the old gentleman said this in a low voice: more to himself than to +his companion: and as he remained silent for a short time afterwards: +Oliver sat quite still. + +“Well, well!” said the old gentleman at length, in a more cheerful +tone, “I only say this, because you have a young heart; and knowing +that I have suffered great pain and sorrow, you will be more careful, +perhaps, not to wound me again. You say you are an orphan, without a +friend in the world; all the inquiries I have been able to make, +confirm the statement. Let me hear your story; where you come from; who +brought you up; and how you got into the company in which I found you. +Speak the truth, and you shall not be friendless while I live.” + +Oliver’s sobs checked his utterance for some minutes; when he was on +the point of beginning to relate how he had been brought up at the +farm, and carried to the workhouse by Mr. Bumble, a peculiarly +impatient little double-knock was heard at the street-door: and the +servant, running upstairs, announced Mr. Grimwig. + +“Is he coming up?” inquired Mr. Brownlow. + +“Yes, sir,” replied the servant. “He asked if there were any muffins in +the house; and, when I told him yes, he said he had come to tea.” + +Mr. Brownlow smiled; and, turning to Oliver, said that Mr. Grimwig was +an old friend of his, and he must not mind his being a little rough in +his manners; for he was a worthy creature at bottom, as he had reason +to know. + +“Shall I go downstairs, sir?” inquired Oliver. + +“No,” replied Mr. Brownlow, “I would rather you remained here.” + +At this moment, there walked into the room: supporting himself by a +thick stick: a stout old gentleman, rather lame in one leg, who was +dressed in a blue coat, striped waistcoat, nankeen breeches and +gaiters, and a broad-brimmed white hat, with the sides turned up with +green. A very small-plaited shirt frill stuck out from his waistcoat; +and a very long steel watch-chain, with nothing but a key at the end, +dangled loosely below it. The ends of his white neckerchief were +twisted into a ball about the size of an orange; the variety of shapes +into which his countenance was twisted, defy description. He had a +manner of screwing his head on one side when he spoke; and of looking +out of the corners of his eyes at the same time: which irresistibly +reminded the beholder of a parrot. In this attitude, he fixed himself, +the moment he made his appearance; and, holding out a small piece of +orange-peel at arm’s length, exclaimed, in a growling, discontented +voice, + +“Look here! do you see this! Isn’t it a most wonderful and +extraordinary thing that I can’t call at a man’s house but I find a +piece of this poor surgeon’s friend on the staircase? I’ve been lamed +with orange-peel once, and I know orange-peel will be my death, or I’ll +be content to eat my own head, sir!” + +This was the handsome offer with which Mr. Grimwig backed and confirmed +nearly every assertion he made; and it was the more singular in his +case, because, even admitting for the sake of argument, the possibility +of scientific improvements being brought to that pass which will enable +a gentleman to eat his own head in the event of his being so disposed, +Mr. Grimwig’s head was such a particularly large one, that the most +sanguine man alive could hardly entertain a hope of being able to get +through it at a sitting—to put entirely out of the question, a very +thick coating of powder. + +“I’ll eat my head, sir,” repeated Mr. Grimwig, striking his stick upon +the ground. “Hallo! what’s that!” looking at Oliver, and retreating a +pace or two. + +“This is young Oliver Twist, whom we were speaking about,” said Mr. +Brownlow. + +Oliver bowed. + +“You don’t mean to say that’s the boy who had the fever, I hope?” said +Mr. Grimwig, recoiling a little more. “Wait a minute! Don’t speak! +Stop—” continued Mr. Grimwig, abruptly, losing all dread of the fever +in his triumph at the discovery; “that’s the boy who had the orange! If +that’s not the boy, sir, who had the orange, and threw this bit of peel +upon the staircase, I’ll eat my head, and his too.” + +“No, no, he has not had one,” said Mr. Brownlow, laughing. “Come! Put +down your hat; and speak to my young friend.” + +“I feel strongly on this subject, sir,” said the irritable old +gentleman, drawing off his gloves. “There’s always more or less +orange-peel on the pavement in our street; and I _know_ it’s put there +by the surgeon’s boy at the corner. A young woman stumbled over a bit +last night, and fell against my garden-railings; directly she got up I +saw her look towards his infernal red lamp with the pantomime-light. +‘Don’t go to him,’ I called out of the window, ‘he’s an assassin! A +man-trap!’ So he is. If he is not—” Here the irascible old gentleman +gave a great knock on the ground with his stick; which was always +understood, by his friends, to imply the customary offer, whenever it +was not expressed in words. Then, still keeping his stick in his hand, +he sat down; and, opening a double eye-glass, which he wore attached to +a broad black riband, took a view of Oliver: who, seeing that he was +the object of inspection, coloured, and bowed again. + +“That’s the boy, is it?” said Mr. Grimwig, at length. + +“That’s the boy,” replied Mr. Brownlow. + +“How are you, boy?” said Mr. Grimwig. + +“A great deal better, thank you, sir,” replied Oliver. + +Mr. Brownlow, seeming to apprehend that his singular friend was about +to say something disagreeable, asked Oliver to step downstairs and tell +Mrs. Bedwin they were ready for tea; which, as he did not half like the +visitor’s manner, he was very happy to do. + +“He is a nice-looking boy, is he not?” inquired Mr. Brownlow. + +“I don’t know,” replied Mr. Grimwig, pettishly. + +“Don’t know?” + +“No. I don’t know. I never see any difference in boys. I only knew two +sort of boys. Mealy boys, and beef-faced boys.” + +“And which is Oliver?” + +“Mealy. I know a friend who has a beef-faced boy; a fine boy, they call +him; with a round head, and red cheeks, and glaring eyes; a horrid boy; +with a body and limbs that appear to be swelling out of the seams of +his blue clothes; with the voice of a pilot, and the appetite of a +wolf. I know him! The wretch!” + +“Come,” said Mr. Brownlow, “these are not the characteristics of young +Oliver Twist; so he needn’t excite your wrath.” + +“They are not,” replied Mr. Grimwig. “He may have worse.” + +Here, Mr. Brownlow coughed impatiently; which appeared to afford Mr. +Grimwig the most exquisite delight. + +“He may have worse, I say,” repeated Mr. Grimwig. “Where does he come +from! Who is he? What is he? He has had a fever. What of that? Fevers +are not peculiar to good people; are they? Bad people have fevers +sometimes; haven’t they, eh? I knew a man who was hung in Jamaica for +murdering his master. He had had a fever six times; he wasn’t +recommended to mercy on that account. Pooh! nonsense!” + +Now, the fact was, that in the inmost recesses of his own heart, Mr. +Grimwig was strongly disposed to admit that Oliver’s appearance and +manner were unusually prepossessing; but he had a strong appetite for +contradiction, sharpened on this occasion by the finding of the +orange-peel; and, inwardly determining that no man should dictate to +him whether a boy was well-looking or not, he had resolved, from the +first, to oppose his friend. When Mr. Brownlow admitted that on no one +point of inquiry could he yet return a satisfactory answer; and that he +had postponed any investigation into Oliver’s previous history until he +thought the boy was strong enough to hear it; Mr. Grimwig chuckled +maliciously. And he demanded, with a sneer, whether the housekeeper was +in the habit of counting the plate at night; because if she didn’t find +a table-spoon or two missing some sunshiny morning, why, he would be +content to—and so forth. + +All this, Mr. Brownlow, although himself somewhat of an impetuous +gentleman: knowing his friend’s peculiarities, bore with great good +humour; as Mr. Grimwig, at tea, was graciously pleased to express his +entire approval of the muffins, matters went on very smoothly; and +Oliver, who made one of the party, began to feel more at his ease than +he had yet done in the fierce old gentleman’s presence. + +“And when are you going to hear a full, true, and particular account of +the life and adventures of Oliver Twist?” asked Grimwig of Mr. +Brownlow, at the conclusion of the meal; looking sideways at Oliver, as +he resumed his subject. + +“Tomorrow morning,” replied Mr. Brownlow. “I would rather he was alone +with me at the time. Come up to me tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, my +dear.” + +“Yes, sir,” replied Oliver. He answered with some hesitation, because +he was confused by Mr. Grimwig’s looking so hard at him. + +“I’ll tell you what,” whispered that gentleman to Mr. Brownlow; “he +won’t come up to you tomorrow morning. I saw him hesitate. He is +deceiving you, my good friend.” + +“I’ll swear he is not,” replied Mr. Brownlow, warmly. + +“If he is not,” said Mr. Grimwig, “I’ll—” and down went the stick. + +“I’ll answer for that boy’s truth with my life!” said Mr. Brownlow, +knocking the table. + +“And I for his falsehood with my head!” rejoined Mr. Grimwig, knocking +the table also. + +“We shall see,” said Mr. Brownlow, checking his rising anger. + +“We will,” replied Mr. Grimwig, with a provoking smile; “we will.” + +As fate would have it, Mrs. Bedwin chanced to bring in, at this moment, +a small parcel of books, which Mr. Brownlow had that morning purchased +of the identical bookstall-keeper, who has already figured in this +history; having laid them on the table, she prepared to leave the room. + +“Stop the boy, Mrs. Bedwin!” said Mr. Brownlow; “there is something to +go back.” + +“He has gone, sir,” replied Mrs. Bedwin. + +“Call after him,” said Mr. Brownlow; “it’s particular. He is a poor +man, and they are not paid for. There are some books to be taken back, +too.” + +The street-door was opened. Oliver ran one way; and the girl ran +another; and Mrs. Bedwin stood on the step and screamed for the boy; +but there was no boy in sight. Oliver and the girl returned, in a +breathless state, to report that there were no tidings of him. + +“Dear me, I am very sorry for that,” exclaimed Mr. Brownlow; “I +particularly wished those books to be returned tonight.” + +“Send Oliver with them,” said Mr. Grimwig, with an ironical smile; “he +will be sure to deliver them safely, you know.” + +“Yes; do let me take them, if you please, sir,” said Oliver. “I’ll run +all the way, sir.” + +The old gentleman was just going to say that Oliver should not go out +on any account; when a most malicious cough from Mr. Grimwig determined +him that he should; and that, by his prompt discharge of the +commission, he should prove to him the injustice of his suspicions: on +this head at least: at once. + +“You _shall_ go, my dear,” said the old gentleman. “The books are on a +chair by my table. Fetch them down.” + +Oliver, delighted to be of use, brought down the books under his arm in +a great bustle; and waited, cap in hand, to hear what message he was to +take. + +“You are to say,” said Mr. Brownlow, glancing steadily at Grimwig; “you +are to say that you have brought those books back; and that you have +come to pay the four pound ten I owe him. This is a five-pound note, so +you will have to bring me back, ten shillings change.” + +“I won’t be ten minutes, sir,” said Oliver, eagerly. Having buttoned up +the bank-note in his jacket pocket, and placed the books carefully +under his arm, he made a respectful bow, and left the room. Mrs. Bedwin +followed him to the street-door, giving him many directions about the +nearest way, and the name of the bookseller, and the name of the +street: all of which Oliver said he clearly understood. Having +superadded many injunctions to be sure and not take cold, the old lady +at length permitted him to depart. + +“Bless his sweet face!” said the old lady, looking after him. “I can’t +bear, somehow, to let him go out of my sight.” + +At this moment, Oliver looked gaily round, and nodded before he turned +the corner. The old lady smilingly returned his salutation, and, +closing the door, went back to her own room. + +“Let me see; he’ll be back in twenty minutes, at the longest,” said Mr. +Brownlow, pulling out his watch, and placing it on the table. “It will +be dark by that time.” + +“Oh! you really expect him to come back, do you?” inquired Mr. Grimwig. + +“Don’t you?” asked Mr. Brownlow, smiling. + +The spirit of contradiction was strong in Mr. Grimwig’s breast, at the +moment; and it was rendered stronger by his friend’s confident smile. + +“No,” he said, smiting the table with his fist, “I do not. The boy has +a new suit of clothes on his back, a set of valuable books under his +arm, and a five-pound note in his pocket. He’ll join his old friends +the thieves, and laugh at you. If ever that boy returns to this house, +sir, I’ll eat my head.” + +With these words he drew his chair closer to the table; and there the +two friends sat, in silent expectation, with the watch between them. + +It is worthy of remark, as illustrating the importance we attach to our +own judgments, and the pride with which we put forth our most rash and +hasty conclusions, that, although Mr. Grimwig was not by any means a +bad-hearted man, and though he would have been unfeignedly sorry to see +his respected friend duped and deceived, he really did most earnestly +and strongly hope at that moment, that Oliver Twist might not come +back. + +It grew so dark, that the figures on the dial-plate were scarcely +discernible; but there the two old gentlemen continued to sit, in +silence, with the watch between them. + + + + + CHAPTER XV. +SHOWING HOW VERY FOND OF OLIVER TWIST, THE MERRY OLD JEW AND MISS NANCY +WERE + + +In the obscure parlour of a low public-house, in the filthiest part of +Little Saffron Hill; a dark and gloomy den, where a flaring gas-light +burnt all day in the winter-time; and where no ray of sun ever shone in +the summer: there sat, brooding over a little pewter measure and a +small glass, strongly impregnated with the smell of liquor, a man in a +velveteen coat, drab shorts, half-boots and stockings, whom even by +that dim light no experienced agent of the police would have hesitated +to recognise as Mr. William Sikes. At his feet, sat a white-coated, +red-eyed dog; who occupied himself, alternately, in winking at his +master with both eyes at the same time; and in licking a large, fresh +cut on one side of his mouth, which appeared to be the result of some +recent conflict. + +“Keep quiet, you warmint! Keep quiet!” said Mr. Sikes, suddenly +breaking silence. Whether his meditations were so intense as to be +disturbed by the dog’s winking, or whether his feelings were so wrought +upon by his reflections that they required all the relief derivable +from kicking an unoffending animal to allay them, is matter for +argument and consideration. Whatever was the cause, the effect was a +kick and a curse, bestowed upon the dog simultaneously. + +Dogs are not generally apt to revenge injuries inflicted upon them by +their masters; but Mr. Sikes’s dog, having faults of temper in common +with his owner, and labouring, perhaps, at this moment, under a +powerful sense of injury, made no more ado but at once fixed his teeth +in one of the half-boots. Having given in a hearty shake, he retired, +growling, under a form; just escaping the pewter measure which Mr. +Sikes levelled at his head. + +“You would, would you?” said Sikes, seizing the poker in one hand, and +deliberately opening with the other a large clasp-knife, which he drew +from his pocket. “Come here, you born devil! Come here! D’ye hear?” + +The dog no doubt heard; because Mr. Sikes spoke in the very harshest +key of a very harsh voice; but, appearing to entertain some +unaccountable objection to having his throat cut, he remained where he +was, and growled more fiercely than before: at the same time grasping +the end of the poker between his teeth, and biting at it like a wild +beast. + +This resistance only infuriated Mr. Sikes the more; who, dropping on +his knees, began to assail the animal most furiously. The dog jumped +from right to left, and from left to right; snapping, growling, and +barking; the man thrust and swore, and struck and blasphemed; and the +struggle was reaching a most critical point for one or other; when, the +door suddenly opening, the dog darted out: leaving Bill Sikes with the +poker and the clasp-knife in his hands. + +There must always be two parties to a quarrel, says the old adage. Mr. +Sikes, being disappointed of the dog’s participation, at once +transferred his share in the quarrel to the new comer. + +“What the devil do you come in between me and my dog for?” said Sikes, +with a fierce gesture. + +“I didn’t know, my dear, I didn’t know,” replied Fagin, humbly; for the +Jew was the new comer. + +“Didn’t know, you white-livered thief!” growled Sikes. “Couldn’t you +hear the noise?” + +“Not a sound of it, as I’m a living man, Bill,” replied the Jew. + +“Oh no! You hear nothing, you don’t,” retorted Sikes with a fierce +sneer. “Sneaking in and out, so as nobody hears how you come or go! I +wish you had been the dog, Fagin, half a minute ago.” + +“Why?” inquired the Jew with a forced smile. + +“’Cause the government, as cares for the lives of such men as you, as +haven’t half the pluck of curs, lets a man kill a dog how he likes,” +replied Sikes, shutting up the knife with a very expressive look; +“that’s why.” + +The Jew rubbed his hands; and, sitting down at the table, affected to +laugh at the pleasantry of his friend. He was obviously very ill at +ease, however. + +“Grin away,” said Sikes, replacing the poker, and surveying him with +savage contempt; “grin away. You’ll never have the laugh at me, though, +unless it’s behind a nightcap. I’ve got the upper hand over you, Fagin; +and, d—me, I’ll keep it. There! If I go, you go; so take care of me.” + +“Well, well, my dear,” said the Jew, “I know all that; we—we—have a +mutual interest, Bill,—a mutual interest.” + +“Humph,” said Sikes, as if he thought the interest lay rather more on +the Jew’s side than on his. “Well, what have you got to say to me?” + +“It’s all passed safe through the melting-pot,” replied Fagin, “and +this is your share. It’s rather more than it ought to be, my dear; but +as I know you’ll do me a good turn another time, and—” + +“Stow that gammon,” interposed the robber, impatiently. “Where is it? +Hand over!” + +“Yes, yes, Bill; give me time, give me time,” replied the Jew, +soothingly. “Here it is! All safe!” As he spoke, he drew forth an old +cotton handkerchief from his breast; and untying a large knot in one +corner, produced a small brown-paper packet. Sikes, snatching it from +him, hastily opened it; and proceeded to count the sovereigns it +contained. + +“This is all, is it?” inquired Sikes. + +“All,” replied the Jew. + +“You haven’t opened the parcel and swallowed one or two as you come +along, have you?” inquired Sikes, suspiciously. “Don’t put on an +injured look at the question; you’ve done it many a time. Jerk the +tinkler.” + +These words, in plain English, conveyed an injunction to ring the bell. +It was answered by another Jew: younger than Fagin, but nearly as vile +and repulsive in appearance. + +Bill Sikes merely pointed to the empty measure. The Jew, perfectly +understanding the hint, retired to fill it: previously exchanging a +remarkable look with Fagin, who raised his eyes for an instant, as if +in expectation of it, and shook his head in reply; so slightly that the +action would have been almost imperceptible to an observant third +person. It was lost upon Sikes, who was stooping at the moment to tie +the boot-lace which the dog had torn. Possibly, if he had observed the +brief interchange of signals, he might have thought that it boded no +good to him. + +“Is anybody here, Barney?” inquired Fagin; speaking, now that +Sikes was looking on, without raising his eyes from the ground. + +“Dot a shoul,” replied Barney; whose words: whether they came from the +heart or not: made their way through the nose. + +“Nobody?” inquired Fagin, in a tone of surprise: which perhaps might +mean that Barney was at liberty to tell the truth. + +“Dobody but Biss Dadsy,” replied Barney. + +“Nancy!” exclaimed Sikes. “Where? Strike me blind, if I don’t honour +that ’ere girl, for her native talents.” + +“She’s bid havid a plate of boiled beef id the bar,” replied Barney. + +“Send her here,” said Sikes, pouring out a glass of liquor. “Send her +here.” + +Barney looked timidly at Fagin, as if for permission; the Jew remaining +silent, and not lifting his eyes from the ground, he retired; and +presently returned, ushering in Nancy; who was decorated with the +bonnet, apron, basket, and street-door key, complete. + +“You are on the scent, are you, Nancy?” inquired Sikes, proffering the +glass. + +“Yes, I am, Bill,” replied the young lady, disposing of its contents; +“and tired enough of it I am, too. The young brat’s been ill and +confined to the crib; and—” + +“Ah, Nancy, dear!” said Fagin, looking up. + +Now, whether a peculiar contraction of the Jew’s red eye-brows, and a +half closing of his deeply-set eyes, warned Miss Nancy that she was +disposed to be too communicative, is not a matter of much importance. +The fact is all we need care for here; and the fact is, that she +suddenly checked herself, and with several gracious smiles upon Mr. +Sikes, turned the conversation to other matters. In about ten minutes’ +time, Mr. Fagin was seized with a fit of coughing; upon which Nancy +pulled her shawl over her shoulders, and declared it was time to go. +Mr. Sikes, finding that he was walking a short part of her way himself, +expressed his intention of accompanying her; they went away together, +followed, at a little distant, by the dog, who slunk out of a back-yard +as soon as his master was out of sight. + +The Jew thrust his head out of the room door when Sikes had left it; +looked after him as he walked up the dark passage; shook his clenched +fist; muttered a deep curse; and then, with a horrible grin, reseated +himself at the table; where he was soon deeply absorbed in the +interesting pages of the Hue-and-Cry. + +Meanwhile, Oliver Twist, little dreaming that he was within so very +short a distance of the merry old gentleman, was on his way to the +book-stall. When he got into Clerkenwell, he accidently turned down a +by-street which was not exactly in his way; but not discovering his +mistake until he had got half-way down it, and knowing it must lead in +the right direction, he did not think it worth while to turn back; and +so marched on, as quickly as he could, with the books under his arm. + +He was walking along, thinking how happy and contented he ought to +feel; and how much he would give for only one look at poor little Dick, +who, starved and beaten, might be weeping bitterly at that very moment; +when he was startled by a young woman screaming out very loud. “Oh, my +dear brother!” And he had hardly looked up, to see what the matter was, +when he was stopped by having a pair of arms thrown tight round his +neck. + +“Don’t,” cried Oliver, struggling. “Let go of me. Who is it? What are +you stopping me for?” + +The only reply to this, was a great number of loud lamentations from +the young woman who had embraced him; and who had a little basket and a +street-door key in her hand. + +“Oh my gracious!” said the young woman, “I have found him! Oh! Oliver! +Oliver! Oh you naughty boy, to make me suffer such distress on your +account! Come home, dear, come. Oh, I’ve found him. Thank gracious +goodness heavins, I’ve found him!” With these incoherent exclamations, +the young woman burst into another fit of crying, and got so dreadfully +hysterical, that a couple of women who came up at the moment asked a +butcher’s boy with a shiny head of hair anointed with suet, who was +also looking on, whether he didn’t think he had better run for the +doctor. To which, the butcher’s boy: who appeared of a lounging, not to +say indolent disposition: replied, that he thought not. + +“Oh, no, no, never mind,” said the young woman, grasping Oliver’s hand; +“I’m better now. Come home directly, you cruel boy! Come!” + +“Oh, ma’am,” replied the young woman, “he ran away, near a month ago, +from his parents, who are hard-working and respectable people; and went +and joined a set of thieves and bad characters; and almost broke his +mother’s heart.” + +“Young wretch!” said one woman. + +“Go home, do, you little brute,” said the other. + +“I am not,” replied Oliver, greatly alarmed. “I don’t know her. I +haven’t any sister, or father and mother either. I’m an orphan; I live +at Pentonville.” + +“Only hear him, how he braves it out!” cried the young woman. + +“Why, it’s Nancy!” exclaimed Oliver; who now saw her face for the first +time; and started back, in irrepressible astonishment. + +“You see he knows me!” cried Nancy, appealing to the bystanders. “He +can’t help himself. Make him come home, there’s good people, or he’ll +kill his dear mother and father, and break my heart!” + +“What the devil’s this?” said a man, bursting out of a beer-shop, with +a white dog at his heels; “young Oliver! Come home to your poor mother, +you young dog! Come home directly.” + +“I don’t belong to them. I don’t know them. Help! help!” cried Oliver, +struggling in the man’s powerful grasp. + +“Help!” repeated the man. “Yes; I’ll help you, you young rascal! What +books are these? You’ve been a stealing ’em, have you? Give ’em here.” +With these words, the man tore the volumes from his grasp, and struck +him on the head. + +“That’s right!” cried a looker-on, from a garret-window. “That’s the +only way of bringing him to his senses!” + +“To be sure!” cried a sleepy-faced carpenter, casting an approving look +at the garret-window. + +“It’ll do him good!” said the two women. + +“And he shall have it, too!” rejoined the man, administering another +blow, and seizing Oliver by the collar. “Come on, you young villain! +Here, Bull’s-eye, mind him, boy! Mind him!” + +Weak with recent illness; stupified by the blows and the suddenness of +the attack; terrified by the fierce growling of the dog, and the +brutality of the man; overpowered by the conviction of the bystanders +that he really was the hardened little wretch he was described to be; +what could one poor child do! Darkness had set in; it was a low +neighborhood; no help was near; resistance was useless. In another +moment he was dragged into a labyrinth of dark narrow courts, and was +forced along them at a pace which rendered the few cries he dared to +give utterance to, unintelligible. It was of little moment, indeed, +whether they were intelligible or no; for there was nobody to care for +them, had they been ever so plain. + + +The gas-lamps were lighted; Mrs. Bedwin was waiting anxiously at the +open door; the servant had run up the street twenty times to see if +there were any traces of Oliver; and still the two old gentlemen sat, +perseveringly, in the dark parlour, with the watch between them. + + + + + CHAPTER XVI. +RELATES WHAT BECAME OF OLIVER TWIST, AFTER HE HAD BEEN CLAIMED BY NANCY + + +The narrow streets and courts, at length, terminated in a large open +space; scattered about which, were pens for beasts, and other +indications of a cattle-market. Sikes slackened his pace when they +reached this spot: the girl being quite unable to support any longer, +the rapid rate at which they had hitherto walked. Turning to Oliver, he +roughly commanded him to take hold of Nancy’s hand. + +“Do you hear?” growled Sikes, as Oliver hesitated, and looked round. + +They were in a dark corner, quite out of the track of passengers. + +Oliver saw, but too plainly, that resistance would be of no avail. He +held out his hand, which Nancy clasped tight in hers. + +“Give me the other,” said Sikes, seizing Oliver’s unoccupied hand. +“Here, Bull’s-Eye!” + +The dog looked up, and growled. + +“See here, boy!” said Sikes, putting his other hand to Oliver’s throat; +“if he speaks ever so soft a word, hold him! D’ye mind!” + +The dog growled again; and licking his lips, eyed Oliver as if he were +anxious to attach himself to his windpipe without delay. + +“He’s as willing as a Christian, strike me blind if he isn’t!” said +Sikes, regarding the animal with a kind of grim and ferocious approval. +“Now, you know what you’ve got to expect, master, so call away as quick +as you like; the dog will soon stop that game. Get on, young ’un!” + +Bull’s-eye wagged his tail in acknowledgment of this unusually +endearing form of speech; and, giving vent to another admonitory growl +for the benefit of Oliver, led the way onward. + +It was Smithfield that they were crossing, although it might have been +Grosvenor Square, for anything Oliver knew to the contrary. The night +was dark and foggy. The lights in the shops could scarecely struggle +through the heavy mist, which thickened every moment and shrouded the +streets and houses in gloom; rendering the strange place still stranger +in Oliver’s eyes; and making his uncertainty the more dismal and +depressing. + +They had hurried on a few paces, when a deep church-bell struck the +hour. With its first stroke, his two conductors stopped, and turned +their heads in the direction whence the sound proceeded. + +“Eight o’clock, Bill,” said Nancy, when the bell ceased. + +“What’s the good of telling me that; I can hear it, can’t I?” replied +Sikes. + +“I wonder whether _they_ can hear it,” said Nancy. + +“Of course they can,” replied Sikes. “It was Bartlemy time when I was +shopped; and there warn’t a penny trumpet in the fair, as I couldn’t +hear the squeaking on. Arter I was locked up for the night, the row and +din outside made the thundering old jail so silent, that I could almost +have beat my brains out against the iron plates of the door.” + +“Poor fellow!” said Nancy, who still had her face turned towards the +quarter in which the bell had sounded. “Oh, Bill, such fine young chaps +as them!” + +“Yes; that’s all you women think of,” answered Sikes. “Fine young +chaps! Well, they’re as good as dead, so it don’t much matter.” + +With this consolation, Mr. Sikes appeared to repress a rising tendency +to jealousy, and, clasping Oliver’s wrist more firmly, told him to step +out again. + +“Wait a minute!” said the girl: “I wouldn’t hurry by, if it was you +that was coming out to be hung, the next time eight o’clock struck, +Bill. I’d walk round and round the place till I dropped, if the snow +was on the ground, and I hadn’t a shawl to cover me.” + +“And what good would that do?” inquired the unsentimental Mr. Sikes. +“Unless you could pitch over a file and twenty yards of good stout +rope, you might as well be walking fifty mile off, or not walking at +all, for all the good it would do me. Come on, and don’t stand +preaching there.” + +The girl burst into a laugh; drew her shawl more closely round her; and +they walked away. But Oliver felt her hand tremble, and, looking up in +her face as they passed a gas-lamp, saw that it had turned a deadly +white. + +They walked on, by little-frequented and dirty ways, for a full +half-hour: meeting very few people, and those appearing from their +looks to hold much the same position in society as Mr. Sikes himself. +At length they turned into a very filthy narrow street, nearly full of +old-clothes shops; the dog running forward, as if conscious that there +was no further occasion for his keeping on guard, stopped before the +door of a shop that was closed and apparently untenanted; the house was +in a ruinous condition, and on the door was nailed a board, intimating +that it was to let: which looked as if it had hung there for many +years. + +“All right,” cried Sikes, glancing cautiously about. + +Nancy stooped below the shutters, and Oliver heard the sound of a bell. +They crossed to the opposite side of the street, and stood for a few +moments under a lamp. A noise, as if a sash window were gently raised, +was heard; and soon afterwards the door softly opened. Mr. Sikes then +seized the terrified boy by the collar with very little ceremony; and +all three were quickly inside the house. + +The passage was perfectly dark. They waited, while the person who had +let them in, chained and barred the door. + +“Anybody here?” inquired Sikes. + +“No,” replied a voice, which Oliver thought he had heard before. + +“Is the old ’un here?” asked the robber. + +“Yes,” replied the voice, “and precious down in the mouth he has been. +Won’t he be glad to see you? Oh, no!” + +The style of this reply, as well as the voice which delivered it, +seemed familiar to Oliver’s ears: but it was impossible to distinguish +even the form of the speaker in the darkness. + +“Let’s have a glim,” said Sikes, “or we shall go breaking our necks, or +treading on the dog. Look after your legs if you do!” + +“Stand still a moment, and I’ll get you one,” replied the voice. The +receding footsteps of the speaker were heard; and, in another minute, +the form of Mr. John Dawkins, otherwise the Artful Dodger, appeared. He +bore in his right hand a tallow candle stuck in the end of a cleft +stick. + +The young gentleman did not stop to bestow any other mark of +recognition upon Oliver than a humourous grin; but, turning away, +beckoned the visitors to follow him down a flight of stairs. They +crossed an empty kitchen; and, opening the door of a low +earthy-smelling room, which seemed to have been built in a small +back-yard, were received with a shout of laughter. + +“Oh, my wig, my wig!” cried Master Charles Bates, from whose lungs the +laughter had proceeded: “here he is! oh, cry, here he is! Oh, Fagin, +look at him! Fagin, do look at him! I can’t bear it; it is such a jolly +game, I can’t bear it. Hold me, somebody, while I laugh it out.” + +With this irrepressible ebullition of mirth, Master Bates laid himself +flat on the floor: and kicked convulsively for five minutes, in an +ectasy of facetious joy. Then jumping to his feet, he snatched the +cleft stick from the Dodger; and, advancing to Oliver, viewed him round +and round; while the Jew, taking off his nightcap, made a great number +of low bows to the bewildered boy. The Artful, meantime, who was of a +rather saturnine disposition, and seldom gave way to merriment when it +interfered with business, rifled Oliver’s pockets with steady +assiduity. + +“Look at his togs, Fagin!” said Charley, putting the light so close to +his new jacket as nearly to set him on fire. “Look at his togs! +Superfine cloth, and the heavy swell cut! Oh, my eye, what a game! And +his books, too! Nothing but a gentleman, Fagin!” + +“Delighted to see you looking so well, my dear,” said the Jew, bowing +with mock humility. “The Artful shall give you another suit, my dear, +for fear you should spoil that Sunday one. Why didn’t you write, my +dear, and say you were coming? We’d have got something warm for +supper.” + +At his, Master Bates roared again: so loud, that Fagin himself relaxed, +and even the Dodger smiled; but as the Artful drew forth the five-pound +note at that instant, it is doubtful whether the sally of the discovery +awakened his merriment. + +“Hallo, what’s that?” inquired Sikes, stepping forward as the Jew +seized the note. “That’s mine, Fagin.” + +“No, no, my dear,” said the Jew. “Mine, Bill, mine. You shall have the +books.” + +“If that ain’t mine!” said Bill Sikes, putting on his hat with a +determined air; “mine and Nancy’s that is; I’ll take the boy back +again.” + +The Jew started. Oliver started too, though from a very different +cause; for he hoped that the dispute might really end in his being +taken back. + +“Come! Hand over, will you?” said Sikes. + +“This is hardly fair, Bill; hardly fair, is it, Nancy?” inquired the +Jew. + +“Fair, or not fair,” retorted Sikes, “hand over, I tell you! Do you +think Nancy and me has got nothing else to do with our precious time +but to spend it in scouting arter, and kidnapping, every young boy as +gets grabbed through you? Give it here, you avaricious old skeleton, +give it here!” + +With this gentle remonstrance, Mr. Sikes plucked the note from between +the Jew’s finger and thumb; and looking the old man coolly in the face, +folded it up small, and tied it in his neckerchief. + +“That’s for our share of the trouble,” said Sikes; “and not half +enough, neither. You may keep the books, if you’re fond of reading. If +you ain’t, sell ’em.” + +“They’re very pretty,” said Charley Bates: who, with sundry grimaces, +had been affecting to read one of the volumes in question; “beautiful +writing, isn’t is, Oliver?” At sight of the dismayed look with which +Oliver regarded his tormentors, Master Bates, who was blessed with a +lively sense of the ludicrous, fell into another ectasy, more +boisterous than the first. + +“They belong to the old gentleman,” said Oliver, wringing his hands; +“to the good, kind, old gentleman who took me into his house, and had +me nursed, when I was near dying of the fever. Oh, pray send them back; +send him back the books and money. Keep me here all my life long; but +pray, pray send them back. He’ll think I stole them; the old lady: all +of them who were so kind to me: will think I stole them. Oh, do have +mercy upon me, and send them back!” + +With these words, which were uttered with all the energy of passionate +grief, Oliver fell upon his knees at the Jew’s feet; and beat his hands +together, in perfect desperation. + +“The boy’s right,” remarked Fagin, looking covertly round, and knitting +his shaggy eyebrows into a hard knot. “You’re right, Oliver, you’re +right; they _will_ think you have stolen ’em. Ha! ha!” chuckled the +Jew, rubbing his hands, “it couldn’t have happened better, if we had +chosen our time!” + +“Of course it couldn’t,” replied Sikes; “I know’d that, directly I see +him coming through Clerkenwell, with the books under his arm. It’s all +right enough. They’re soft-hearted psalm-singers, or they wouldn’t have +taken him in at all; and they’ll ask no questions after him, fear they +should be obliged to prosecute, and so get him lagged. He’s safe +enough.” + +Oliver had looked from one to the other, while these words were being +spoken, as if he were bewildered, and could scarecely understand what +passed; but when Bill Sikes concluded, he jumped suddenly to his feet, +and tore wildly from the room: uttering shrieks for help, which made +the bare old house echo to the roof. + +“Keep back the dog, Bill!” cried Nancy, springing before the door, and +closing it, as the Jew and his two pupils darted out in pursuit. “Keep +back the dog; he’ll tear the boy to pieces.” + +“Serve him right!” cried Sikes, struggling to disengage himself from +the girl’s grasp. “Stand off from me, or I’ll split your head against +the wall.” + +“I don’t care for that, Bill, I don’t care for that,” screamed the +girl, struggling violently with the man, “the child shan’t be torn down +by the dog, unless you kill me first.” + +“Shan’t he!” said Sikes, setting his teeth. “I’ll soon do that, if you +don’t keep off.” + +The housebreaker flung the girl from him to the further end of the +room, just as the Jew and the two boys returned, dragging Oliver among +them. + +“What’s the matter here!” said Fagin, looking round. + +“The girl’s gone mad, I think,” replied Sikes, savagely. + +“No, she hasn’t,” said Nancy, pale and breathless from the scuffle; +“no, she hasn’t, Fagin; don’t think it.” + +“Then keep quiet, will you?” said the Jew, with a threatening look. + +“No, I won’t do that, neither,” replied Nancy, speaking very loud. +“Come! What do you think of that?” + +Mr. Fagin was sufficiently well acquainted with the manners and customs +of that particular species of humanity to which Nancy belonged, to feel +tolerably certain that it would be rather unsafe to prolong any +conversation with her, at present. With the view of diverting the +attention of the company, he turned to Oliver. + +“So you wanted to get away, my dear, did you?” said the Jew, taking up +a jagged and knotted club which lay in a corner of the fireplace; “eh?” + +Oliver made no reply. But he watched the Jew’s motions, and breathed +quickly. + +“Wanted to get assistance; called for the police; did you?” sneered the +Jew, catching the boy by the arm. “We’ll cure you of that, my young +master.” + +The Jew inflicted a smart blow on Oliver’s shoulders with the club; and +was raising it for a second, when the girl, rushing forward, wrested it +from his hand. She flung it into the fire, with a force that brought +some of the glowing coals whirling out into the room. + +“I won’t stand by and see it done, Fagin,” cried the girl. “You’ve got +the boy, and what more would you have?—Let him be—let him be—or I shall +put that mark on some of you, that will bring me to the gallows before +my time.” + +The girl stamped her foot violently on the floor as she vented this +threat; and with her lips compressed, and her hands clenched, looked +alternately at the Jew and the other robber: her face quite colourless +from the passion of rage into which she had gradually worked herself. + +“Why, Nancy!” said the Jew, in a soothing tone; after a pause, during +which he and Mr. Sikes had stared at one another in a disconcerted +manner; “you,—you’re more clever than ever tonight. Ha! ha! my dear, +you are acting beautifully.” + +“Am I?” said the girl. “Take care I don’t overdo it. You will be the +worse for it, Fagin, if I do; and so I tell you in good time to keep +clear of me.” + +There is something about a roused woman: especially if she add to all +her other strong passions, the fierce impulses of recklessness and +despair; which few men like to provoke. The Jew saw that it would be +hopeless to affect any further mistake regarding the reality of Miss +Nancy’s rage; and, shrinking involuntarily back a few paces, cast a +glance, half imploring and half cowardly, at Sikes: as if to hint that +he was the fittest person to pursue the dialogue. + +Mr. Sikes, thus mutely appealed to; and possibly feeling his personal +pride and influence interested in the immediate reduction of Miss Nancy +to reason; gave utterance to about a couple of score of curses and +threats, the rapid production of which reflected great credit on the +fertility of his invention. As they produced no visible effect on the +object against whom they were discharged, however, he resorted to more +tangible arguments. + +“What do you mean by this?” said Sikes; backing the inquiry with a very +common imprecation concerning the most beautiful of human features: +which, if it were heard above, only once out of every fifty thousand +times that it is uttered below, would render blindness as common a +disorder as measles: “what do you mean by it? Burn my body! Do you know +who you are, and what you are?” + +“Oh, yes, I know all about it,” replied the girl, laughing +hysterically; and shaking her head from side to side, with a poor +assumption of indifference. + +“Well, then, keep quiet,” rejoined Sikes, with a growl like that he was +accustomed to use when addressing his dog, “or I’ll quiet you for a +good long time to come.” + +The girl laughed again: even less composedly than before; and, darting +a hasty look at Sikes, turned her face aside, and bit her lip till the +blood came. + +“You’re a nice one,” added Sikes, as he surveyed her with a +contemptuous air, “to take up the humane and gen—teel side! A pretty +subject for the child, as you call him, to make a friend of!” + +“God Almighty help me, I am!” cried the girl passionately; “and I wish +I had been struck dead in the street, or had changed places with them +we passed so near tonight, before I had lent a hand in bringing him +here. He’s a thief, a liar, a devil, all that’s bad, from this night +forth. Isn’t that enough for the old wretch, without blows?” + +“Come, come, Sikes,” said the Jew appealing to him in a remonstratory +tone, and motioning towards the boys, who were eagerly attentive to all +that passed; “we must have civil words; civil words, Bill.” + +“Civil words!” cried the girl, whose passion was frightful to see. +“Civil words, you villain! Yes, you deserve ’em from me. I thieved for +you when I was a child not half as old as this!” pointing to Oliver. “I +have been in the same trade, and in the same service, for twelve years +since. Don’t you know it? Speak out! Don’t you know it?” + +“Well, well,” replied the Jew, with an attempt at pacification; “and, +if you have, it’s your living!” + +“Aye, it is!” returned the girl; not speaking, but pouring out the +words in one continuous and vehement scream. “It is my living; and the +cold, wet, dirty streets are my home; and you’re the wretch that drove +me to them long ago, and that’ll keep me there, day and night, day and +night, till I die!” + +“I shall do you a mischief!” interposed the Jew, goaded by these +reproaches; “a mischief worse than that, if you say much more!” + +The girl said nothing more; but, tearing her hair and dress in a +transport of passion, made such a rush at the Jew as would probably +have left signal marks of her revenge upon him, had not her wrists been +seized by Sikes at the right moment; upon which, she made a few +ineffectual struggles, and fainted. + +“She’s all right now,” said Sikes, laying her down in a corner. “She’s +uncommon strong in the arms, when she’s up in this way.” + +The Jew wiped his forehead: and smiled, as if it were a relief to have +the disturbance over; but neither he, nor Sikes, nor the dog, nor the +boys, seemed to consider it in any other light than a common occurance +incidental to business. + +“It’s the worst of having to do with women,” said the Jew, replacing +his club; “but they’re clever, and we can’t get on, in our line, +without ’em. Charley, show Oliver to bed.” + +“I suppose he’d better not wear his best clothes tomorrow, Fagin, had +he?” inquired Charley Bates. + +“Certainly not,” replied the Jew, reciprocating the grin with which +Charley put the question. + +Master Bates, apparently much delighted with his commission, took the +cleft stick: and led Oliver into an adjacent kitchen, where there were +two or three of the beds on which he had slept before; and here, with +many uncontrollable bursts of laughter, he produced the identical old +suit of clothes which Oliver had so much congratulated himself upon +leaving off at Mr. Brownlow’s; and the accidental display of which, to +Fagin, by the Jew who purchased them, had been the very first clue +received, of his whereabout. + +“Put off the smart ones,” said Charley, “and I’ll give ’em to Fagin to +take care of. What fun it is!” + +Poor Oliver unwillingly complied. Master Bates rolling up the new +clothes under his arm, departed from the room, leaving Oliver in the +dark, and locking the door behind him. + +The noise of Charley’s laughter, and the voice of Miss Betsy, who +opportunely arrived to throw water over her friend, and perform other +feminine offices for the promotion of her recovery, might have kept +many people awake under more happy circumstances than those in which +Oliver was placed. But he was sick and weary; and he soon fell sound +asleep. + + + + + CHAPTER XVII. +OLIVER’S DESTINY CONTINUING UNPROPITIOUS, BRINGS A GREAT MAN TO LONDON +TO INJURE HIS REPUTATION + + +It is the custom on the stage, in all good murderous melodramas, to +present the tragic and the comic scenes, in as regular alternation, as +the layers of red and white in a side of streaky bacon. The hero sinks +upon his straw bed, weighed down by fetters and misfortunes; in the +next scene, his faithful but unconscious squire regales the audience +with a comic song. We behold, with throbbing bosoms, the heroine in the +grasp of a proud and ruthless baron: her virtue and her life alike in +danger, drawing forth her dagger to preserve the one at the cost of the +other; and just as our expectations are wrought up to the highest +pitch, a whistle is heard, and we are straightway transported to the +great hall of the castle; where a grey-headed seneschal sings a funny +chorus with a funnier body of vassals, who are free of all sorts of +places, from church vaults to palaces, and roam about in company, +carolling perpetually. + +Such changes appear absurd; but they are not so unnatural as they would +seem at first sight. The transitions in real life from well-spread +boards to death-beds, and from mourning-weeds to holiday garments, are +not a whit less startling; only, there, we are busy actors, instead of +passive lookers-on, which makes a vast difference. The actors in the +mimic life of the theatre, are blind to violent transitions and abrupt +impulses of passion or feeling, which, presented before the eyes of +mere spectators, are at once condemned as outrageous and preposterous. + +As sudden shiftings of the scene, and rapid changes of time and place, +are not only sanctioned in books by long usage, but are by many +considered as the great art of authorship: an author’s skill in his +craft being, by such critics, chiefly estimated with relation to the +dilemmas in which he leaves his characters at the end of every chapter: +this brief introduction to the present one may perhaps be deemed +unnecessary. If so, let it be considered a delicate intimation on the +part of the historian that he is going back to the town in which Oliver +Twist was born; the reader taking it for granted that there are good +and substantial reasons for making the journey, or he would not be +invited to proceed upon such an expedition. + +Mr. Bumble emerged at early morning from the workhouse-gate, and walked +with portly carriage and commanding steps, up the High Street. He was +in the full bloom and pride of beadlehood; his cocked hat and coat were +dazzling in the morning sun; he clutched his cane with the vigorous +tenacity of health and power. Mr. Bumble always carried his head high; +but this morning it was higher than usual. There was an abstraction in +his eye, an elevation in his air, which might have warned an observant +stranger that thoughts were passing in the beadle’s mind, too great for +utterance. + +Mr. Bumble stopped not to converse with the small shopkeepers and +others who spoke to him, deferentially, as he passed along. He merely +returned their salutations with a wave of his hand, and relaxed not in +his dignified pace, until he reached the farm where Mrs. Mann tended +the infant paupers with parochial care. + +“Drat that beadle!” said Mrs. Mann, hearing the well-known shaking at +the garden-gate. “If it isn’t him at this time in the morning! Lauk, +Mr. Bumble, only think of its being you! Well, dear me, it _is_ a +pleasure, this is! Come into the parlour, sir, please.” + +The first sentence was addressed to Susan; and the exclamations of +delight were uttered to Mr. Bumble: as the good lady unlocked the +garden-gate: and showed him, with great attention and respect, into the +house. + +“Mrs. Mann,” said Mr. Bumble; not sitting upon, or dropping himself +into a seat, as any common jackanapes would: but letting himself +gradually and slowly down into a chair; “Mrs. Mann, ma’am, good +morning.” + +“Well, and good morning to _you_, sir,” replied Mrs. Mann, with many +smiles; “and hoping you find yourself well, sir!” + +“So-so, Mrs. Mann,” replied the beadle. “A porochial life is not a bed +of roses, Mrs. Mann.” + +“Ah, that it isn’t indeed, Mr. Bumble,” rejoined the lady. And all the +infant paupers might have chorussed the rejoinder with great propriety, +if they had heard it. + +“A porochial life, ma’am,” continued Mr. Bumble, striking the table +with his cane, “is a life of worrit, and vexation, and hardihood; but +all public characters, as I may say, must suffer prosecution.” + +Mrs. Mann, not very well knowing what the beadle meant, raised her +hands with a look of sympathy, and sighed. + +“Ah! You may well sigh, Mrs. Mann!” said the beadle. + +Finding she had done right, Mrs. Mann sighed again: evidently to the +satisfaction of the public character: who, repressing a complacent +smile by looking sternly at his cocked hat, said, + +“Mrs. Mann, I am going to London.” + +“Lauk, Mr. Bumble!” cried Mrs. Mann, starting back. + +“To London, ma’am,” resumed the inflexible beadle, “by coach. I and two +paupers, Mrs. Mann! A legal action is a coming on, about a settlement; +and the board has appointed me—me, Mrs. Mann—to dispose to the matter +before the quarter-sessions at Clerkinwell. And I very much question,” +added Mr. Bumble, drawing himself up, “whether the Clerkinwell Sessions +will not find themselves in the wrong box before they have done with +me.” + +“Oh! you mustn’t be too hard upon them, sir,” said Mrs. Mann, +coaxingly. + +“The Clerkinwell Sessions have brought it upon themselves, ma’am,” +replied Mr. Bumble; “and if the Clerkinwell Sessions find that they +come off rather worse than they expected, the Clerkinwell Sessions have +only themselves to thank.” + +There was so much determination and depth of purpose about the menacing +manner in which Mr. Bumble delivered himself of these words, that Mrs. +Mann appeared quite awed by them. At length she said, + +“You’re going by coach, sir? I thought it was always usual to send them +paupers in carts.” + +“That’s when they’re ill, Mrs. Mann,” said the beadle. “We put the sick +paupers into open carts in the rainy weather, to prevent their taking +cold.” + +“Oh!” said Mrs. Mann. + +“The opposition coach contracts for these two; and takes them cheap,” +said Mr. Bumble. “They are both in a very low state, and we find it +would come two pound cheaper to move ’em than to bury ’em—that is, if +we can throw ’em upon another parish, which I think we shall be able to +do, if they don’t die upon the road to spite us. Ha! ha! ha!” + +When Mr. Bumble had laughed a little while, his eyes again encountered +the cocked hat; and he became grave. + +“We are forgetting business, ma’am,” said the beadle; “here is your +porochial stipend for the month.” + +Mr. Bumble produced some silver money rolled up in paper, from his +pocket-book; and requested a receipt: which Mrs. Mann wrote. + +“It’s very much blotted, sir,” said the farmer of infants; “but it’s +formal enough, I dare say. Thank you, Mr. Bumble, sir, I am very much +obliged to you, I’m sure.” + +Mr. Bumble nodded, blandly, in acknowledgment of Mrs. Mann’s curtsey; +and inquired how the children were. + +“Bless their dear little hearts!” said Mrs. Mann with emotion, “they’re +as well as can be, the dears! Of course, except the two that died last +week. And little Dick.” + +“Isn’t that boy no better?” inquired Mr. Bumble. + +Mrs. Mann shook her head. + +“He’s a ill-conditioned, wicious, bad-disposed porochial child that,” +said Mr. Bumble angrily. “Where is he?” + +“I’ll bring him to you in one minute, sir,” replied Mrs. Mann. “Here, +you Dick!” + +After some calling, Dick was discovered. Having had his face put under +the pump, and dried upon Mrs. Mann’s gown, he was led into the awful +presence of Mr. Bumble, the beadle. + +The child was pale and thin; his cheeks were sunken; and his eyes large +and bright. The scanty parish dress, the livery of his misery, hung +loosely on his feeble body; and his young limbs had wasted away, like +those of an old man. + +Such was the little being who stood trembling beneath Mr. Bumble’s +glance; not daring to lift his eyes from the floor; and dreading even +to hear the beadle’s voice. + +“Can’t you look at the gentleman, you obstinate boy?” said Mrs. Mann. + +The child meekly raised his eyes, and encountered those of Mr. Bumble. + +“What’s the matter with you, porochial Dick?” inquired Mr. Bumble, with +well-timed jocularity. + +“Nothing, sir,” replied the child faintly. + +“I should think not,” said Mrs. Mann, who had of course laughed very +much at Mr. Bumble’s humour. + +“You want for nothing, I’m sure.” + +“I should like—” faltered the child. + +“Hey-day!” interposed Mrs. Mann, “I suppose you’re going to say that +you _do_ want for something, now? Why, you little wretch—” + +“Stop, Mrs. Mann, stop!” said the beadle, raising his hand with a show +of authority. “Like what, sir, eh?” + +“I should like,” faltered the child, “if somebody that can write, would +put a few words down for me on a piece of paper, and fold it up and +seal it, and keep it for me, after I am laid in the ground.” + +“Why, what does the boy mean?” exclaimed Mr. Bumble, on whom the +earnest manner and wan aspect of the child had made some impression: +accustomed as he was to such things. “What do you mean, sir?” + +“I should like,” said the child, “to leave my dear love to poor Oliver +Twist; and to let him know how often I have sat by myself and cried to +think of his wandering about in the dark nights with nobody to help +him. And I should like to tell him,” said the child pressing his small +hands together, and speaking with great fervour, “that I was glad to +die when I was very young; for, perhaps, if I had lived to be a man, +and had grown old, my little sister who is in Heaven, might forget me, +or be unlike me; and it would be so much happier if we were both +children there together.” + +Mr. Bumble surveyed the little speaker, from head to foot, with +indescribable astonishment; and, turning to his companion, said, +“They’re all in one story, Mrs. Mann. That out-dacious Oliver had +demogalized them all!” + +“I couldn’t have believed it, sir” said Mrs Mann, holding up her hands, +and looking malignantly at Dick. “I never see such a hardened little +wretch!” + +“Take him away, ma’am!” said Mr. Bumble imperiously. “This must be +stated to the board, Mrs. Mann.” + +“I hope the gentleman will understand that it isn’t my fault, sir?” +said Mrs. Mann, whimpering pathetically. + +“They shall understand that, ma’am; they shall be acquainted with the +true state of the case,” said Mr. Bumble. “There; take him away, I +can’t bear the sight on him.” + +Dick was immediately taken away, and locked up in the coal-cellar. Mr. +Bumble shortly afterwards took himself off, to prepare for his journey. + +At six o’clock next morning, Mr. Bumble: having exchanged his cocked +hat for a round one, and encased his person in a blue great-coat with a +cape to it: took his place on the outside of the coach, accompanied by +the criminals whose settlement was disputed; with whom, in due course +of time, he arrived in London. + +He experienced no other crosses on the way, than those which originated +in the perverse behaviour of the two paupers, who persisted in +shivering, and complaining of the cold, in a manner which, Mr. Bumble +declared, caused his teeth to chatter in his head, and made him feel +quite uncomfortable; although he had a great-coat on. + +Having disposed of these evil-minded persons for the night, Mr. Bumble +sat himself down in the house at which the coach stopped; and took a +temperate dinner of steaks, oyster sauce, and porter. Putting a glass +of hot gin-and-water on the chimney-piece, he drew his chair to the +fire; and, with sundry moral reflections on the too-prevalent sin of +discontent and complaining, composed himself to read the paper. + +The very first paragraph upon which Mr. Bumble’s eye rested, was the +following advertisement. + +“FIVE GUINEAS REWARD + + +“Whereas a young boy, named Oliver Twist, absconded, or was enticed, on +Thursday evening last, from his home, at Pentonville; and has not since +been heard of. The above reward will be paid to any person who will +give such information as will lead to the discovery of the said Oliver +Twist, or tend to throw any light upon his previous history, in which +the advertiser is, for many reasons, warmly interested.” + +And then followed a full description of Oliver’s dress, person, +appearance, and disappearance: with the name and address of Mr. +Brownlow at full length. + +Mr. Bumble opened his eyes; read the advertisement, slowly and +carefully, three several times; and in something more than five minutes +was on his way to Pentonville: having actually, in his excitement, left +the glass of hot gin-and-water, untasted. + +“Is Mr. Brownlow at home?” inquired Mr. Bumble of the girl who opened +the door. + +To this inquiry the girl returned the not uncommon, but rather evasive +reply of “I don’t know; where do you come from?” + +Mr. Bumble no sooner uttered Oliver’s name, in explanation of his +errand, than Mrs. Bedwin, who had been listening at the parlour door, +hastened into the passage in a breathless state. + +“Come in, come in,” said the old lady: “I knew we should hear of him. +Poor dear! I knew we should! I was certain of it. Bless his heart! I +said so all along.” + +Having said this, the worthy old lady hurried back into the parlour +again; and seating herself on a sofa, burst into tears. The girl, who +was not quite so susceptible, had run upstairs meanwhile; and now +returned with a request that Mr. Bumble would follow her immediately: +which he did. + +He was shown into the little back study, where sat Mr. Brownlow and his +friend Mr. Grimwig, with decanters and glasses before them. The latter +gentleman at once burst into the exclamation: + +“A beadle. A parish beadle, or I’ll eat my head.” + +“Pray don’t interrupt just now,” said Mr. Brownlow. “Take a seat, will +you?” + +Mr. Bumble sat himself down; quite confounded by the oddity of Mr. +Grimwig’s manner. Mr. Brownlow moved the lamp, so as to obtain an +uninterrupted view of the beadle’s countenance; and said, with a little +impatience, + +“Now, sir, you come in consequence of having seen the advertisement?” + +“Yes, sir,” said Mr. Bumble. + +“And you _are_ a beadle, are you not?” inquired Mr. Grimwig. + +“I am a porochial beadle, gentlemen,” rejoined Mr. Bumble proudly. + +“Of course,” observed Mr. Grimwig aside to his friend, “I knew he was. +A beadle all over!” + +Mr. Brownlow gently shook his head to impose silence on his friend, and +resumed: + +“Do you know where this poor boy is now?” + +“No more than nobody,” replied Mr. Bumble. + +“Well, what _do_ you know of him?” inquired the old gentleman. “Speak +out, my friend, if you have anything to say. What _do_ you know of +him?” + +“You don’t happen to know any good of him, do you?” said Mr. Grimwig, +caustically; after an attentive perusal of Mr. Bumble’s features. + +Mr. Bumble, catching at the inquiry very quickly, shook his head with +portentous solemnity. + +“You see?” said Mr. Grimwig, looking triumphantly at Mr. Brownlow. + +Mr. Brownlow looked apprehensively at Mr. Bumble’s pursed-up +countenance; and requested him to communicate what he knew regarding +Oliver, in as few words as possible. + +Mr. Bumble put down his hat; unbuttoned his coat; folded his arms; +inclined his head in a retrospective manner; and, after a few moments’ +reflection, commenced his story. + +It would be tedious if given in the beadle’s words: occupying, as it +did, some twenty minutes in the telling; but the sum and substance of +it was, that Oliver was a foundling, born of low and vicious parents. +That he had, from his birth, displayed no better qualities than +treachery, ingratitude, and malice. That he had terminated his brief +career in the place of his birth, by making a sanguinary and cowardly +attack on an unoffending lad, and running away in the night-time from +his master’s house. In proof of his really being the person he +represented himself, Mr. Bumble laid upon the table the papers he had +brought to town. Folding his arms again, he then awaited Mr. Brownlow’s +observations. + +“I fear it is all too true,” said the old gentleman sorrowfully, after +looking over the papers. “This is not much for your intelligence; but I +would gladly have given you treble the money, if it had been favourable +to the boy.” + +It is not improbable that if Mr. Bumble had been possessed of this +information at an earlier period of the interview, he might have +imparted a very different colouring to his little history. It was too +late to do it now, however; so he shook his head gravely, and, +pocketing the five guineas, withdrew. + +Mr. Brownlow paced the room to and fro for some minutes; evidently so +much disturbed by the beadle’s tale, that even Mr. Grimwig forbore to +vex him further. + +At length he stopped, and rang the bell violently. + +“Mrs. Bedwin,” said Mr. Brownlow, when the housekeeper appeared; “that +boy, Oliver, is an imposter.” + +“It can’t be, sir. It cannot be,” said the old lady energetically. + +“I tell you he is,” retorted the old gentleman. “What do you mean by +can’t be? We have just heard a full account of him from his birth; and +he has been a thorough-paced little villain, all his life.” + +“I never will believe it, sir,” replied the old lady, firmly. “Never!” + +“You old women never believe anything but quack-doctors, and lying +story-books,” growled Mr. Grimwig. “I knew it all along. Why didn’t you +take my advice in the beginning; you would if he hadn’t had a fever, I +suppose, eh? He was interesting, wasn’t he? Interesting! Bah!” And Mr. +Grimwig poked the fire with a flourish. + +“He was a dear, grateful, gentle child, sir,” retorted Mrs. Bedwin, +indignantly. “I know what children are, sir; and have done these forty +years; and people who can’t say the same, shouldn’t say anything about +them. That’s my opinion!” + +This was a hard hit at Mr. Grimwig, who was a bachelor. As it extorted +nothing from that gentleman but a smile, the old lady tossed her head, +and smoothed down her apron preparatory to another speech, when she was +stopped by Mr. Brownlow. + +“Silence!” said the old gentleman, feigning an anger he was far from +feeling. “Never let me hear the boy’s name again. I rang to tell you +that. Never. Never, on any pretence, mind! You may leave the room, Mrs. +Bedwin. Remember! I am in earnest.” + +There were sad hearts at Mr. Brownlow’s that night. + +Oliver’s heart sank within him, when he thought of his good friends; it +was well for him that he could not know what they had heard, or it +might have broken outright. + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII. +HOW OLIVER PASSED HIS TIME IN THE IMPROVING SOCIETY OF HIS REPUTABLE +FRIENDS + + +About noon next day, when the Dodger and Master Bates had gone out to +pursue their customary avocations, Mr. Fagin took the opportunity of +reading Oliver a long lecture on the crying sin of ingratitude; of +which he clearly demonstrated he had been guilty, to no ordinary +extent, in wilfully absenting himself from the society of his anxious +friends; and, still more, in endeavouring to escape from them after so +much trouble and expense had been incurred in his recovery. Mr. Fagin +laid great stress on the fact of his having taken Oliver in, and +cherished him, when, without his timely aid, he might have perished +with hunger; and he related the dismal and affecting history of a young +lad whom, in his philanthropy, he had succoured under parallel +circumstances, but who, proving unworthy of his confidence and evincing +a desire to communicate with the police, had unfortunately come to be +hanged at the Old Bailey one morning. Mr. Fagin did not seek to conceal +his share in the catastrophe, but lamented with tears in his eyes that +the wrong-headed and treacherous behaviour of the young person in +question, had rendered it necessary that he should become the victim of +certain evidence for the crown: which, if it were not precisely true, +was indispensably necessary for the safety of him (Mr. Fagin) and a few +select friends. Mr. Fagin concluded by drawing a rather disagreeable +picture of the discomforts of hanging; and, with great friendliness and +politeness of manner, expressed his anxious hopes that he might never +be obliged to submit Oliver Twist to that unpleasant operation. + +Little Oliver’s blood ran cold, as he listened to the Jew’s words, and +imperfectly comprehended the dark threats conveyed in them. That it was +possible even for justice itself to confound the innocent with the +guilty when they were in accidental companionship, he knew already; and +that deeply-laid plans for the destruction of inconveniently knowing or +over-communicative persons, had been really devised and carried out by +the Jew on more occasions than one, he thought by no means unlikely, +when he recollected the general nature of the altercations between that +gentleman and Mr. Sikes: which seemed to bear reference to some +foregone conspiracy of the kind. As he glanced timidly up, and met the +Jew’s searching look, he felt that his pale face and trembling limbs +were neither unnoticed nor unrelished by that wary old gentleman. + +The Jew, smiling hideously, patted Oliver on the head, and said, that +if he kept himself quiet, and applied himself to business, he saw they +would be very good friends yet. Then, taking his hat, and covering +himself with an old patched great-coat, he went out, and locked the +room-door behind him. + +And so Oliver remained all that day, and for the greater part of many +subsequent days, seeing nobody, between early morning and midnight, and +left during the long hours to commune with his own thoughts. Which, +never failing to revert to his kind friends, and the opinion they must +long ago have formed of him, were sad indeed. + +After the lapse of a week or so, the Jew left the room-door unlocked; +and he was at liberty to wander about the house. + +It was a very dirty place. The rooms upstairs had great high wooden +chimney-pieces and large doors, with panelled walls and cornices to the +ceiling; which, although they were black with neglect and dust, were +ornamented in various ways. From all of these tokens Oliver concluded +that a long time ago, before the old Jew was born, it had belonged to +better people, and had perhaps been quite gay and handsome: dismal and +dreary as it looked now. + +Spiders had built their webs in the angles of the walls and ceilings; +and sometimes, when Oliver walked softly into a room, the mice would +scamper across the floor, and run back terrified to their holes. With +these exceptions, there was neither sight nor sound of any living +thing; and often, when it grew dark, and he was tired of wandering from +room to room, he would crouch in the corner of the passage by the +street-door, to be as near living people as he could; and would remain +there, listening and counting the hours, until the Jew or the boys +returned. + +In all the rooms, the mouldering shutters were fast closed: the bars +which held them were screwed tight into the wood; the only light which +was admitted, stealing its way through round holes at the top: which +made the rooms more gloomy, and filled them with strange shadows. There +was a back-garret window with rusty bars outside, which had no shutter; +and out of this, Oliver often gazed with a melancholy face for hours +together; but nothing was to be descried from it but a confused and +crowded mass of housetops, blackened chimneys, and gable-ends. +Sometimes, indeed, a grizzly head might be seen, peering over the +parapet-wall of a distant house; but it was quickly withdrawn again; +and as the window of Oliver’s observatory was nailed down, and dimmed +with the rain and smoke of years, it was as much as he could do to make +out the forms of the different objects beyond, without making any +attempt to be seen or heard,—which he had as much chance of being, as +if he had lived inside the ball of St. Paul’s Cathedral. + +One afternoon, the Dodger and Master Bates being engaged out that +evening, the first-named young gentleman took it into his head to +evince some anxiety regarding the decoration of his person (to do him +justice, this was by no means an habitual weakness with him); and, with +this end and aim, he condescendingly commanded Oliver to assist him in +his toilet, straightway. + +Oliver was but too glad to make himself useful; too happy to have some +faces, however bad, to look upon; too desirous to conciliate those +about him when he could honestly do so; to throw any objection in the +way of this proposal. So he at once expressed his readiness; and, +kneeling on the floor, while the Dodger sat upon the table so that he +could take his foot in his laps, he applied himself to a process which +Mr. Dawkins designated as “japanning his trotter-cases.” The phrase, +rendered into plain English, signifieth, cleaning his boots. + +Whether it was the sense of freedom and independence which a rational +animal may be supposed to feel when he sits on a table in an easy +attitude smoking a pipe, swinging one leg carelessly to and fro, and +having his boots cleaned all the time, without even the past trouble of +having taken them off, or the prospective misery of putting them on, to +disturb his reflections; or whether it was the goodness of the tobacco +that soothed the feelings of the Dodger, or the mildness of the beer +that mollified his thoughts; he was evidently tinctured, for the nonce, +with a spice of romance and enthusiasm, foreign to his general nature. +He looked down on Oliver, with a thoughtful countenance, for a brief +space; and then, raising his head, and heaving a gentle sigh, said, +half in abstraction, and half to Master Bates: + +“What a pity it is he isn’t a prig!” + +“Ah!” said Master Charles Bates; “he don’t know what’s good for him.” + +The Dodger sighed again, and resumed his pipe: as did Charley Bates. +They both smoked, for some seconds, in silence. + +“I suppose you don’t even know what a prig is?” said the Dodger +mournfully. + +“I think I know that,” replied Oliver, looking up. “It’s a the—; you’re +one, are you not?” inquired Oliver, checking himself. + +“I am,” replied the Dodger. “I’d scorn to be anything else.” Mr. +Dawkins gave his hat a ferocious cock, after delivering this sentiment, +and looked at Master Bates, as if to denote that he would feel obliged +by his saying anything to the contrary. + +“I am,” repeated the Dodger. “So’s Charley. So’s Fagin. So’s Sikes. +So’s Nancy. So’s Bet. So we all are, down to the dog. And he’s the +downiest one of the lot!” + +“And the least given to peaching,” added Charley Bates. + +“He wouldn’t so much as bark in a witness-box, for fear of committing +himself; no, not if you tied him up in one, and left him there without +wittles for a fortnight,” said the Dodger. + +“Not a bit of it,” observed Charley. + +“He’s a rum dog. Don’t he look fierce at any strange cove that laughs +or sings when he’s in company!” pursued the Dodger. “Won’t he growl at +all, when he hears a fiddle playing! And don’t he hate other dogs as +ain’t of his breed! Oh, no!” + +“He’s an out-and-out Christian,” said Charley. + +This was merely intended as a tribute to the animal’s abilities, but it +was an appropriate remark in another sense, if Master Bates had only +known it; for there are a good many ladies and gentlemen, claiming to +be out-and-out Christians, between whom, and Mr. Sikes’ dog, there +exist strong and singular points of resemblance. + +“Well, well,” said the Dodger, recurring to the point from which they +had strayed: with that mindfulness of his profession which influenced +all his proceedings. “This hasn’t got anything to do with young Green +here.” + +“No more it has,” said Charley. “Why don’t you put yourself under +Fagin, Oliver?” + +“And make your fortun’ out of hand?” added the Dodger, with a grin. + +“And so be able to retire on your property, and do the gen-teel: as I +mean to, in the very next leap-year but four that ever comes, and the +forty-second Tuesday in Trinity-week,” said Charley Bates. + +“I don’t like it,” rejoined Oliver, timidly; “I wish they would let me +go. I—I—would rather go.” + +“And Fagin would _rather_ not!” rejoined Charley. + +Oliver knew this too well; but thinking it might be dangerous to +express his feelings more openly, he only sighed, and went on with his +boot-cleaning. + +“Go!” exclaimed the Dodger. “Why, where’s your spirit? Don’t you take +any pride out of yourself? Would you go and be dependent on your +friends?” + +“Oh, blow that!” said Master Bates: drawing two or three silk +handkerchiefs from his pocket, and tossing them into a cupboard, +“that’s too mean; that is.” + +“_I_ couldn’t do it,” said the Dodger, with an air of haughty disgust. + +“You can leave your friends, though,” said Oliver with a half smile; +“and let them be punished for what you did.” + +“That,” rejoined the Dodger, with a wave of his pipe, “That was all out +of consideration for Fagin, ’cause the traps know that we work +together, and he might have got into trouble if we hadn’t made our +lucky; that was the move, wasn’t it, Charley?” + +Master Bates nodded assent, and would have spoken, but the recollection +of Oliver’s flight came so suddenly upon him, that the smoke he was +inhaling got entangled with a laugh, and went up into his head, and +down into his throat: and brought on a fit of coughing and stamping, +about five minutes long. + +“Look here!” said the Dodger, drawing forth a handful of shillings and +halfpence. “Here’s a jolly life! What’s the odds where it comes from? +Here, catch hold; there’s plenty more where they were took from. You +won’t, won’t you? Oh, you precious flat!” + +“It’s naughty, ain’t it, Oliver?” inquired Charley Bates. “He’ll come +to be scragged, won’t he?” + +“I don’t know what that means,” replied Oliver. + +“Something in this way, old feller,” said Charley. As he said it, +Master Bates caught up an end of his neckerchief; and, holding it erect +in the air, dropped his head on his shoulder, and jerked a curious +sound through his teeth; thereby indicating, by a lively pantomimic +representation, that scragging and hanging were one and the same thing. + +“That’s what it means,” said Charley. “Look how he stares, Jack! I +never did see such prime company as that ’ere boy; he’ll be the death +of me, I know he will.” Master Charley Bates, having laughed heartily +again, resumed his pipe with tears in his eyes. + +“You’ve been brought up bad,” said the Dodger, surveying his boots with +much satisfaction when Oliver had polished them. “Fagin will make +something of you, though, or you’ll be the first he ever had that +turned out unprofitable. You’d better begin at once; for you’ll come to +the trade long before you think of it; and you’re only losing time, +Oliver.” + +Master Bates backed this advice with sundry moral admonitions of his +own: which, being exhausted, he and his friend Mr. Dawkins launched +into a glowing description of the numerous pleasures incidental to the +life they led, interspersed with a variety of hints to Oliver that the +best thing he could do, would be to secure Fagin’s favour without more +delay, by the means which they themselves had employed to gain it. + +“And always put this in your pipe, Nolly,” said the Dodger, as the Jew +was heard unlocking the door above, “if you don’t take fogels and +tickers—” + +“What’s the good of talking in that way?” interposed Master Bates; “he +don’t know what you mean.” + +“If you don’t take pocket-handkechers and watches,” said the Dodger, +reducing his conversation to the level of Oliver’s capacity, “some +other cove will; so that the coves that lose ’em will be all the worse, +and you’ll be all the worse, too, and nobody half a ha’p’orth the +better, except the chaps wot gets them—and you’ve just as good a right +to them as they have.” + +“To be sure, to be sure!” said the Jew, who had entered unseen by +Oliver. “It all lies in a nutshell my dear; in a nutshell, take the +Dodger’s word for it. Ha! ha! ha! He understands the catechism of his +trade.” + +The old man rubbed his hands gleefully together, as he corroborated the +Dodger’s reasoning in these terms; and chuckled with delight at his +pupil’s proficiency. + +The conversation proceeded no farther at this time, for the Jew had +returned home accompanied by Miss Betsy, and a gentleman whom Oliver +had never seen before, but who was accosted by the Dodger as Tom +Chitling; and who, having lingered on the stairs to exchange a few +gallantries with the lady, now made his appearance. + +Mr. Chitling was older in years than the Dodger: having perhaps +numbered eighteen winters; but there was a degree of deference in his +deportment towards that young gentleman which seemed to indicate that +he felt himself conscious of a slight inferiority in point of genius +and professional aquirements. He had small twinkling eyes, and a +pock-marked face; wore a fur cap, a dark corduroy jacket, greasy +fustian trousers, and an apron. His wardrobe was, in truth, rather out +of repair; but he excused himself to the company by stating that his +“time” was only out an hour before; and that, in consequence of having +worn the regimentals for six weeks past, he had not been able to bestow +any attention on his private clothes. Mr. Chitling added, with strong +marks of irritation, that the new way of fumigating clothes up yonder +was infernal unconstitutional, for it burnt holes in them, and there +was no remedy against the county. The same remark he considered to +apply to the regulation mode of cutting the hair: which he held to be +decidedly unlawful. Mr. Chitling wound up his observations by stating +that he had not touched a drop of anything for forty-two moral long +hard-working days; and that he “wished he might be busted if he warn’t +as dry as a lime-basket.” + +“Where do you think the gentleman has come from, Oliver?” inquired the +Jew, with a grin, as the other boys put a bottle of spirits on the +table. + +“I—I—don’t know, sir,” replied Oliver. + +“Who’s that?” inquired Tom Chitling, casting a contemptuous look at +Oliver. + +“A young friend of mine, my dear,” replied the Jew. + +“He’s in luck, then,” said the young man, with a meaning look at Fagin. +“Never mind where I came from, young ’un; you’ll find your way there, +soon enough, I’ll bet a crown!” + +At this sally, the boys laughed. After some more jokes on the same +subject, they exchanged a few short whispers with Fagin; and withdrew. + +After some words apart between the last comer and Fagin, they drew +their chairs towards the fire; and the Jew, telling Oliver to come and +sit by him, led the conversation to the topics most calculated to +interest his hearers. These were, the great advantages of the trade, +the proficiency of the Dodger, the amiability of Charley Bates, and the +liberality of the Jew himself. At length these subjects displayed signs +of being thoroughly exhausted; and Mr. Chitling did the same: for the +house of correction becomes fatiguing after a week or two. Miss Betsy +accordingly withdrew; and left the party to their repose. + +From this day, Oliver was seldom left alone; but was placed in almost +constant communication with the two boys, who played the old game with +the Jew every day: whether for their own improvement or Oliver’s, Mr. +Fagin best knew. At other times the old man would tell them stories of +robberies he had committed in his younger days: mixed up with so much +that was droll and curious, that Oliver could not help laughing +heartily, and showing that he was amused in spite of all his better +feelings. + +In short, the wily old Jew had the boy in his toils. Having prepared +his mind, by solitude and gloom, to prefer any society to the +companionship of his own sad thoughts in such a dreary place, he was +now slowly instilling into his soul the poison which he hoped would +blacken it, and change its hue for ever. + + + + + CHAPTER XIX. +IN WHICH A NOTABLE PLAN IS DISCUSSED AND DETERMINED ON + + +It was a chill, damp, windy night, when the Jew: buttoning his +great-coat tight round his shrivelled body, and pulling the collar up +over his ears so as completely to obscure the lower part of his face: +emerged from his den. He paused on the step as the door was locked and +chained behind him; and having listened while the boys made all secure, +and until their retreating footsteps were no longer audible, slunk down +the street as quickly as he could. + +The house to which Oliver had been conveyed, was in the neighborhood of +Whitechapel. The Jew stopped for an instant at the corner of the +street; and, glancing suspiciously round, crossed the road, and struck +off in the direction of the Spitalfields. + +The mud lay thick upon the stones, and a black mist hung over the +streets; the rain fell sluggishly down, and everything felt cold and +clammy to the touch. It seemed just the night when it befitted such a +being as the Jew to be abroad. As he glided stealthily along, creeping +beneath the shelter of the walls and doorways, the hideous old man +seemed like some loathsome reptile, engendered in the slime and +darkness through which he moved: crawling forth, by night, in search of +some rich offal for a meal. + +He kept on his course, through many winding and narrow ways, until he +reached Bethnal Green; then, turning suddenly off to the left, he soon +became involved in a maze of the mean and dirty streets which abound in +that close and densely-populated quarter. + +The Jew was evidently too familiar with the ground he traversed to be +at all bewildered, either by the darkness of the night, or the +intricacies of the way. He hurried through several alleys and streets, +and at length turned into one, lighted only by a single lamp at the +farther end. At the door of a house in this street, he knocked; having +exchanged a few muttered words with the person who opened it, he walked +upstairs. + +A dog growled as he touched the handle of a room-door; and a man’s +voice demanded who was there. + +“Only me, Bill; only me, my dear,” said the Jew looking in. + +“Bring in your body then,” said Sikes. “Lie down, you stupid brute! +Don’t you know the devil when he’s got a great-coat on?” + +Apparently, the dog had been somewhat deceived by Mr. Fagin’s outer +garment; for as the Jew unbuttoned it, and threw it over the back of a +chair, he retired to the corner from which he had risen: wagging his +tail as he went, to show that he was as well satisfied as it was in his +nature to be. + +“Well!” said Sikes. + +“Well, my dear,” replied the Jew.—“Ah! Nancy.” + +The latter recognition was uttered with just enough of embarrassment to +imply a doubt of its reception; for Mr. Fagin and his young friend had +not met, since she had interfered in behalf of Oliver. All doubts upon +the subject, if he had any, were speedily removed by the young lady’s +behaviour. She took her feet off the fender, pushed back her chair, and +bade Fagin draw up his, without saying more about it: for it was a cold +night, and no mistake. + +“It _is_ cold, Nancy dear,” said the Jew, as he warmed his skinny hands +over the fire. “It seems to go right through one,” added the old man, +touching his side. + +“It must be a piercer, if it finds its way through your heart,” said +Mr. Sikes. “Give him something to drink, Nancy. Burn my body, make +haste! It’s enough to turn a man ill, to see his lean old carcase +shivering in that way, like a ugly ghost just rose from the grave.” + +Nancy quickly brought a bottle from a cupboard, in which there were +many: which, to judge from the diversity of their appearance, were +filled with several kinds of liquids. Sikes pouring out a glass of +brandy, bade the Jew drink it off. + +“Quite enough, quite, thankye, Bill,” replied the Jew, putting down the +glass after just setting his lips to it. + +“What! You’re afraid of our getting the better of you, are you?” +inquired Sikes, fixing his eyes on the Jew. “Ugh!” + +With a hoarse grunt of contempt, Mr. Sikes seized the glass, and threw +the remainder of its contents into the ashes: as a preparatory ceremony +to filling it again for himself: which he did at once. + +The Jew glanced round the room, as his companion tossed down the second +glassful; not in curiousity, for he had seen it often before; but in a +restless and suspicious manner habitual to him. It was a meanly +furnished apartment, with nothing but the contents of the closet to +induce the belief that its occupier was anything but a working man; and +with no more suspicious articles displayed to view than two or three +heavy bludgeons which stood in a corner, and a “life-preserver” that +hung over the chimney-piece. + +“There,” said Sikes, smacking his lips. “Now I’m ready.” + +“For business?” inquired the Jew. + +“For business,” replied Sikes; “so say what you’ve got to say.” + +“About the crib at Chertsey, Bill?” said the Jew, drawing his chair +forward, and speaking in a very low voice. + +“Yes. Wot about it?” inquired Sikes. + +“Ah! you know what I mean, my dear,” said the Jew. “He knows what I +mean, Nancy; don’t he?” + +“No, he don’t,” sneered Mr. Sikes. “Or he won’t, and that’s the same +thing. Speak out, and call things by their right names; don’t sit +there, winking and blinking, and talking to me in hints, as if you +warn’t the very first that thought about the robbery. Wot d’ye mean?” + +“Hush, Bill, hush!” said the Jew, who had in vain attempted to stop +this burst of indignation; “somebody will hear us, my dear. Somebody +will hear us.” + +“Let ’em hear!” said Sikes; “I don’t care.” But as Mr. Sikes _did_ +care, on reflection, he dropped his voice as he said the words, and +grew calmer. + +“There, there,” said the Jew, coaxingly. “It was only my caution, +nothing more. Now, my dear, about that crib at Chertsey; when is it to +be done, Bill, eh? When is it to be done? Such plate, my dear, such +plate!” said the Jew: rubbing his hands, and elevating his eyebrows in +a rapture of anticipation. + +“Not at all,” replied Sikes coldly. + +“Not to be done at all!” echoed the Jew, leaning back in his chair. + +“No, not at all,” rejoined Sikes. “At least it can’t be a put-up job, +as we expected.” + +“Then it hasn’t been properly gone about,” said the Jew, turning pale +with anger. “Don’t tell me!” + +“But I will tell you,” retorted Sikes. “Who are you that’s not to be +told? I tell you that Toby Crackit has been hanging about the place for +a fortnight, and he can’t get one of the servants in line.” + +“Do you mean to tell me, Bill,” said the Jew: softening as the other +grew heated: “that neither of the two men in the house can be got +over?” + +“Yes, I do mean to tell you so,” replied Sikes. “The old lady has had +’em these twenty years; and if you were to give ’em five hundred pound, +they wouldn’t be in it.” + +“But do you mean to say, my dear,” remonstrated the Jew, “that the +women can’t be got over?” + +“Not a bit of it,” replied Sikes. + +“Not by flash Toby Crackit?” said the Jew incredulously. “Think what +women are, Bill,” + +“No; not even by flash Toby Crackit,” replied Sikes. “He says he’s worn +sham whiskers, and a canary waistcoat, the whole blessed time he’s been +loitering down there, and it’s all of no use.” + +“He should have tried mustachios and a pair of military trousers, my +dear,” said the Jew. + +“So he did,” rejoined Sikes, “and they warn’t of no more use than the +other plant.” + +The Jew looked blank at this information. After ruminating for some +minutes with his chin sunk on his breast, he raised his head and said, +with a deep sigh, that if flash Toby Crackit reported aright, he feared +the game was up. + +“And yet,” said the old man, dropping his hands on his knees, “it’s a +sad thing, my dear, to lose so much when we had set our hearts upon +it.” + +“So it is,” said Mr. Sikes. “Worse luck!” + +A long silence ensued; during which the Jew was plunged in deep +thought, with his face wrinkled into an expression of villainy +perfectly demoniacal. Sikes eyed him furtively from time to time. +Nancy, apparently fearful of irritating the housebreaker, sat with her +eyes fixed upon the fire, as if she had been deaf to all that passed. + +“Fagin,” said Sikes, abruptly breaking the stillness that prevailed; +“is it worth fifty shiners extra, if it’s safely done from the +outside?” + +“Yes,” said the Jew, as suddenly rousing himself. + +“Is it a bargain?” inquired Sikes. + +“Yes, my dear, yes,” rejoined the Jew; his eyes glistening, and every +muscle in his face working, with the excitement that the inquiry had +awakened. + +“Then,” said Sikes, thrusting aside the Jew’s hand, with some disdain, +“let it come off as soon as you like. Toby and me were over the +garden-wall the night afore last, sounding the panels of the door and +shutters. The crib’s barred up at night like a jail; but there’s one +part we can crack, safe and softly.” + +“Which is that, Bill?” asked the Jew eagerly. + +“Why,” whispered Sikes, “as you cross the lawn—” + +“Yes?” said the Jew, bending his head forward, with his eyes almost +starting out of it. + +“Umph!” cried Sikes, stopping short, as the girl, scarcely moving her +head, looked suddenly round, and pointed for an instant to the Jew’s +face. “Never mind which part it is. You can’t do it without me, I know; +but it’s best to be on the safe side when one deals with you.” + +“As you like, my dear, as you like” replied the Jew. “Is there no help +wanted, but yours and Toby’s?” + +“None,” said Sikes, “’cept a centre-bit and a boy. The first we’ve both +got; the second you must find us.” + +“A boy!” exclaimed the Jew. “Oh! then it’s a panel, eh?” + +“Never mind wot it is!” replied Sikes. “I want a boy, and he musn’t be +a big ’un. Lord!” said Mr. Sikes, reflectively, “if I’d only got that +young boy of Ned, the chimbley-sweeper’s! He kept him small on purpose, +and let him out by the job. But the father gets lagged; and then the +Juvenile Delinquent Society comes, and takes the boy away from a trade +where he was earning money, teaches him to read and write, and in time +makes a ’prentice of him. And so they go on,” said Mr. Sikes, his wrath +rising with the recollection of his wrongs, “so they go on; and, if +they’d got money enough (which it’s a Providence they haven’t,) we +shouldn’t have half a dozen boys left in the whole trade, in a year or +two.” + +“No more we should,” acquiesced the Jew, who had been considering +during this speech, and had only caught the last sentence. “Bill!” + +“What now?” inquired Sikes. + +The Jew nodded his head towards Nancy, who was still gazing at the +fire; and intimated, by a sign, that he would have her told to leave +the room. Sikes shrugged his shoulders impatiently, as if he thought +the precaution unnecessary; but complied, nevertheless, by requesting +Miss Nancy to fetch him a jug of beer. + +“You don’t want any beer,” said Nancy, folding her arms, and retaining +her seat very composedly. + +“I tell you I do!” replied Sikes. + +“Nonsense,” rejoined the girl coolly, “Go on, Fagin. I know what he’s +going to say, Bill; he needn’t mind me.” + +The Jew still hesitated. Sikes looked from one to the other in some +surprise. + +“Why, you don’t mind the old girl, do you, Fagin?” he asked at length. +“You’ve known her long enough to trust her, or the Devil’s in it. She +ain’t one to blab. Are you Nancy?” + +“_I_ should think not!” replied the young lady: drawing her chair up to +the table, and putting her elbows upon it. + +“No, no, my dear, I know you’re not,” said the Jew; “but—” and again +the old man paused. + +“But wot?” inquired Sikes. + +“I didn’t know whether she mightn’t p’r’aps be out of sorts, you know, +my dear, as she was the other night,” replied the Jew. + +At this confession, Miss Nancy burst into a loud laugh; and, swallowing +a glass of brandy, shook her head with an air of defiance, and burst +into sundry exclamations of “Keep the game a-going!” “Never say die!” +and the like. These seemed to have the effect of re-assuring both +gentlemen; for the Jew nodded his head with a satisfied air, and +resumed his seat: as did Mr. Sikes likewise. + +“Now, Fagin,” said Nancy with a laugh. “Tell Bill at once, about +Oliver!” + +“Ha! you’re a clever one, my dear: the sharpest girl I ever saw!” said +the Jew, patting her on the neck. “It _was_ about Oliver I was going to +speak, sure enough. Ha! ha! ha!” + +“What about him?” demanded Sikes. + +“He’s the boy for you, my dear,” replied the Jew in a hoarse whisper; +laying his finger on the side of his nose, and grinning frightfully. + +“He!” exclaimed Sikes. + +“Have him, Bill!” said Nancy. “I would, if I was in your place. He +mayn’t be so much up, as any of the others; but that’s not what you +want, if he’s only to open a door for you. Depend upon it he’s a safe +one, Bill.” + +“I know he is,” rejoined Fagin. “He’s been in good training these last +few weeks, and it’s time he began to work for his bread. Besides, the +others are all too big.” + +“Well, he is just the size I want,” said Mr. Sikes, ruminating. + +“And will do everything you want, Bill, my dear,” interposed the Jew; +“he can’t help himself. That is, if you frighten him enough.” + +“Frighten him!” echoed Sikes. “It’ll be no sham frightening, mind you. +If there’s anything queer about him when we once get into the work; in +for a penny, in for a pound. You won’t see him alive again, Fagin. +Think of that, before you send him. Mark my words!” said the robber, +poising a crowbar, which he had drawn from under the bedstead. + +“I’ve thought of it all,” said the Jew with energy. “I’ve—I’ve had my +eye upon him, my dears, close—close. Once let him feel that he is one +of us; once fill his mind with the idea that he has been a thief; and +he’s ours! Ours for his life. Oho! It couldn’t have come about better!” +The old man crossed his arms upon his breast; and, drawing his head and +shoulders into a heap, literally hugged himself for joy. + +“Ours!” said Sikes. “Yours, you mean.” + +“Perhaps I do, my dear,” said the Jew, with a shrill chuckle. “Mine, if +you like, Bill.” + +“And wot,” said Sikes, scowling fiercely on his agreeable friend, “wot +makes you take so much pains about one chalk-faced kid, when you know +there are fifty boys snoozing about Common Garden every night, as you +might pick and choose from?” + +“Because they’re of no use to me, my dear,” replied the Jew, with some +confusion, “not worth the taking. Their looks convict ’em when they get +into trouble, and I lose ’em all. With this boy, properly managed, my +dears, I could do what I couldn’t with twenty of them. Besides,” said +the Jew, recovering his self-possession, “he has us now if he could +only give us leg-bail again; and he must be in the same boat with us. +Never mind how he came there; it’s quite enough for my power over him +that he was in a robbery; that’s all I want. Now, how much better this +is, than being obliged to put the poor leetle boy out of the way—which +would be dangerous, and we should lose by it besides.” + +“When is it to be done?” asked Nancy, stopping some turbulent +exclamation on the part of Mr. Sikes, expressive of the disgust with +which he received Fagin’s affectation of humanity. + +“Ah, to be sure,” said the Jew; “when is it to be done, Bill?” + +“I planned with Toby, the night arter tomorrow,” rejoined Sikes in a +surly voice, “if he heerd nothing from me to the contrairy.” + +“Good,” said the Jew; “there’s no moon.” + +“No,” rejoined Sikes. + +“It’s all arranged about bringing off the swag, is it?” asked the Jew. + +Sikes nodded. + +“And about—” + +“Oh, ah, it’s all planned,” rejoined Sikes, interrupting him. “Never +mind particulars. You’d better bring the boy here tomorrow night. I +shall get off the stone an hour arter daybreak. Then you hold your +tongue, and keep the melting-pot ready, and that’s all you’ll have to +do.” + +After some discussion, in which all three took an active part, it was +decided that Nancy should repair to the Jew’s next evening when the +night had set in, and bring Oliver away with her; Fagin craftily +observing, that, if he evinced any disinclination to the task, he would +be more willing to accompany the girl who had so recently interfered in +his behalf, than anybody else. It was also solemnly arranged that poor +Oliver should, for the purposes of the contemplated expedition, be +unreservedly consigned to the care and custody of Mr. William Sikes; +and further, that the said Sikes should deal with him as he thought +fit; and should not be held responsible by the Jew for any mischance or +evil that might be necessary to visit him: it being understood that, to +render the compact in this respect binding, any representations made by +Mr. Sikes on his return should be required to be confirmed and +corroborated, in all important particulars, by the testimony of flash +Toby Crackit. + +These preliminaries adjusted, Mr. Sikes proceeded to drink brandy at a +furious rate, and to flourish the crowbar in an alarming manner; +yelling forth, at the same time, most unmusical snatches of song, +mingled with wild execrations. At length, in a fit of professional +enthusiasm, he insisted upon producing his box of housebreaking tools: +which he had no sooner stumbled in with, and opened for the purpose of +explaining the nature and properties of the various implements it +contained, and the peculiar beauties of their construction, than he +fell over the box upon the floor, and went to sleep where he fell. + +“Good-night, Nancy,” said the Jew, muffling himself up as before. + +“Good-night.” + +Their eyes met, and the Jew scrutinised her, narrowly. There was no +flinching about the girl. She was as true and earnest in the matter as +Toby Crackit himself could be. + +The Jew again bade her good-night, and, bestowing a sly kick upon the +prostrate form of Mr. Sikes while her back was turned, groped +downstairs. + +“Always the way!” muttered the Jew to himself as he turned homeward. +“The worst of these women is, that a very little thing serves to call +up some long-forgotten feeling; and, the best of them is, that it never +lasts. Ha! ha! The man against the child, for a bag of gold!” + +Beguiling the time with these pleasant reflections, Mr. Fagin wended +his way, through mud and mire, to his gloomy abode: where the Dodger +was sitting up, impatiently awaiting his return. + +“Is Oliver a-bed? I want to speak to him,” was his first remark as they +descended the stairs. + +“Hours ago,” replied the Dodger, throwing open a door. “Here he is!” + +The boy was lying, fast asleep, on a rude bed upon the floor; so pale +with anxiety, and sadness, and the closeness of his prison, that he +looked like death; not death as it shows in shroud and coffin, but in +the guise it wears when life has just departed; when a young and gentle +spirit has, but an instant, fled to Heaven, and the gross air of the +world has not had time to breathe upon the changing dust it hallowed. + +“Not now,” said the Jew, turning softly away. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow.” + + + + + CHAPTER XX. +WHEREIN OLIVER IS DELIVERED OVER TO MR. WILLIAM SIKES + + +When Oliver awoke in the morning, he was a good deal surprised to find +that a new pair of shoes, with strong thick soles, had been placed at +his bedside; and that his old shoes had been removed. At first, he was +pleased with the discovery: hoping that it might be the forerunner of +his release; but such thoughts were quickly dispelled, on his sitting +down to breakfast along with the Jew, who told him, in a tone and +manner which increased his alarm, that he was to be taken to the +residence of Bill Sikes that night. + +“To—to—stop there, sir?” asked Oliver, anxiously. + +“No, no, my dear. Not to stop there,” replied the Jew. “We shouldn’t +like to lose you. Don’t be afraid, Oliver, you shall come back to us +again. Ha! ha! ha! We won’t be so cruel as to send you away, my dear. +Oh no, no!” + +The old man, who was stooping over the fire toasting a piece of bread, +looked round as he bantered Oliver thus; and chuckled as if to show +that he knew he would still be very glad to get away if he could. + +“I suppose,” said the Jew, fixing his eyes on Oliver, “you want to know +what you’re going to Bill’s for—eh, my dear?” + +Oliver coloured, involuntarily, to find that the old thief had been +reading his thoughts; but boldly said, Yes, he did want to know. + +“Why, do you think?” inquired Fagin, parrying the question. + +“Indeed I don’t know, sir,” replied Oliver. + +“Bah!” said the Jew, turning away with a disappointed countenance from +a close perusal of the boy’s face. “Wait till Bill tells you, then.” + +The Jew seemed much vexed by Oliver’s not expressing any greater +curiosity on the subject; but the truth is, that, although Oliver felt +very anxious, he was too much confused by the earnest cunning of +Fagin’s looks, and his own speculations, to make any further inquiries +just then. He had no other opportunity: for the Jew remained very surly +and silent till night: when he prepared to go abroad. + +“You may burn a candle,” said the Jew, putting one upon the table. “And +here’s a book for you to read, till they come to fetch you. +Good-night!” + +“Good-night!” replied Oliver, softly. + +The Jew walked to the door: looking over his shoulder at the boy as he +went. Suddenly stopping, he called him by his name. + +Oliver looked up; the Jew, pointing to the candle, motioned him to +light it. He did so; and, as he placed the candlestick upon the table, +saw that the Jew was gazing fixedly at him, with lowering and +contracted brows, from the dark end of the room. + +“Take heed, Oliver! take heed!” said the old man, shaking his right +hand before him in a warning manner. “He’s a rough man, and thinks +nothing of blood when his own is up. Whatever falls out, say nothing; +and do what he bids you. Mind!” Placing a strong emphasis on the last +word, he suffered his features gradually to resolve themselves into a +ghastly grin, and, nodding his head, left the room. + +Oliver leaned his head upon his hand when the old man disappeared, and +pondered, with a trembling heart, on the words he had just heard. The +more he thought of the Jew’s admonition, the more he was at a loss to +divine its real purpose and meaning. + +He could think of no bad object to be attained by sending him to Sikes, +which would not be equally well answered by his remaining with Fagin; +and after meditating for a long time, concluded that he had been +selected to perform some ordinary menial offices for the housebreaker, +until another boy, better suited for his purpose could be engaged. He +was too well accustomed to suffering, and had suffered too much where +he was, to bewail the prospect of change very severely. He remained +lost in thought for some minutes; and then, with a heavy sigh, snuffed +the candle, and, taking up the book which the Jew had left with him, +began to read. + +He turned over the leaves. Carelessly at first; but, lighting on a +passage which attracted his attention, he soon became intent upon the +volume. It was a history of the lives and trials of great criminals; +and the pages were soiled and thumbed with use. Here, he read of +dreadful crimes that made the blood run cold; of secret murders that +had been committed by the lonely wayside; of bodies hidden from the eye +of man in deep pits and wells: which would not keep them down, deep as +they were, but had yielded them up at last, after many years, and so +maddened the murderers with the sight, that in their horror they had +confessed their guilt, and yelled for the gibbet to end their agony. +Here, too, he read of men who, lying in their beds at dead of night, +had been tempted (so they said) and led on, by their own bad thoughts, +to such dreadful bloodshed as it made the flesh creep, and the limbs +quail, to think of. The terrible descriptions were so real and vivid, +that the sallow pages seemed to turn red with gore; and the words upon +them, to be sounded in his ears, as if they were whispered, in hollow +murmurs, by the spirits of the dead. + +In a paroxysm of fear, the boy closed the book, and thrust it from him. +Then, falling upon his knees, he prayed Heaven to spare him from such +deeds; and rather to will that he should die at once, than be reserved +for crimes, so fearful and appalling. By degrees, he grew more calm, +and besought, in a low and broken voice, that he might be rescued from +his present dangers; and that if any aid were to be raised up for a +poor outcast boy who had never known the love of friends or kindred, it +might come to him now, when, desolate and deserted, he stood alone in +the midst of wickedness and guilt. + +He had concluded his prayer, but still remained with his head buried in +his hands, when a rustling noise aroused him. + +“What’s that!” he cried, starting up, and catching sight of a figure +standing by the door. “Who’s there?” + +“Me. Only me,” replied a tremulous voice. + +Oliver raised the candle above his head: and looked towards the door. +It was Nancy. + +“Put down the light,” said the girl, turning away her head. “It hurts +my eyes.” + +Oliver saw that she was very pale, and gently inquired if she were ill. +The girl threw herself into a chair, with her back towards him: and +wrung her hands; but made no reply. + +“God forgive me!” she cried after a while, “I never thought of this.” + +“Has anything happened?” asked Oliver. “Can I help you? I will if I +can. I will, indeed.” + +She rocked herself to and fro; caught her throat; and, uttering a +gurgling sound, gasped for breath. + +“Nancy!” cried Oliver, “What is it?” + +The girl beat her hands upon her knees, and her feet upon the ground; +and, suddenly stopping, drew her shawl close round her: and shivered +with cold. + +Oliver stirred the fire. Drawing her chair close to it, she sat there, +for a little time, without speaking; but at length she raised her head, +and looked round. + +“I don’t know what comes over me sometimes,” said she, affecting to +busy herself in arranging her dress; “it’s this damp dirty room, I +think. Now, Nolly, dear, are you ready?” + +“Am I to go with you?” asked Oliver. + +“Yes. I have come from Bill,” replied the girl. “You are to go with +me.” + +“What for?” asked Oliver, recoiling. + +“What for?” echoed the girl, raising her eyes, and averting them again, +the moment they encountered the boy’s face. “Oh! For no harm.” + +“I don’t believe it,” said Oliver: who had watched her closely. + +“Have it your own way,” rejoined the girl, affecting to laugh. “For no +good, then.” + +Oliver could see that he had some power over the girl’s better +feelings, and, for an instant, thought of appealing to her compassion +for his helpless state. But, then, the thought darted across his mind +that it was barely eleven o’clock; and that many people were still in +the streets: of whom surely some might be found to give credence to his +tale. As the reflection occured to him, he stepped forward: and said, +somewhat hastily, that he was ready. + +Neither his brief consideration, nor its purport, was lost on his +companion. She eyed him narrowly, while he spoke; and cast upon him a +look of intelligence which sufficiently showed that she guessed what +had been passing in his thoughts. + +“Hush!” said the girl, stooping over him, and pointing to the door as +she looked cautiously round. “You can’t help yourself. I have tried +hard for you, but all to no purpose. You are hedged round and round. If +ever you are to get loose from here, this is not the time.” + +Struck by the energy of her manner, Oliver looked up in her face with +great surprise. She seemed to speak the truth; her countenance was +white and agitated; and she trembled with very earnestness. + +“I have saved you from being ill-used once, and I will again, and I do +now,” continued the girl aloud; “for those who would have fetched you, +if I had not, would have been far more rough than me. I have promised +for your being quiet and silent; if you are not, you will only do harm +to yourself and me too, and perhaps be my death. See here! I have borne +all this for you already, as true as God sees me show it.” + +She pointed, hastily, to some livid bruises on her neck and arms; and +continued, with great rapidity: + +“Remember this! And don’t let me suffer more for you, just now. If I +could help you, I would; but I have not the power. They don’t mean to +harm you; whatever they make you do, is no fault of yours. Hush! Every +word from you is a blow for me. Give me your hand. Make haste! Your +hand!” + +She caught the hand which Oliver instinctively placed in hers, and, +blowing out the light, drew him after her up the stairs. The door was +opened, quickly, by some one shrouded in the darkness, and was as +quickly closed, when they had passed out. A hackney-cabriolet was in +waiting; with the same vehemence which she had exhibited in addressing +Oliver, the girl pulled him in with her, and drew the curtains close. +The driver wanted no directions, but lashed his horse into full speed, +without the delay of an instant. + +The girl still held Oliver fast by the hand, and continued to pour into +his ear, the warnings and assurances she had already imparted. All was +so quick and hurried, that he had scarcely time to recollect where he +was, or how he came there, when the carriage stopped at the house to +which the Jew’s steps had been directed on the previous evening. + +For one brief moment, Oliver cast a hurried glance along the empty +street, and a cry for help hung upon his lips. But the girl’s voice was +in his ear, beseeching him in such tones of agony to remember her, that +he had not the heart to utter it. While he hesitated, the opportunity +was gone; he was already in the house, and the door was shut. + +“This way,” said the girl, releasing her hold for the first time. +“Bill!” + +“Hallo!” replied Sikes: appearing at the head of the stairs, with a +candle. “Oh! That’s the time of day. Come on!” + +This was a very strong expression of approbation, an uncommonly hearty +welcome, from a person of Mr. Sikes’ temperament. Nancy, appearing much +gratified thereby, saluted him cordially. + +“Bull’s-eye’s gone home with Tom,” observed Sikes, as he lighted them +up. “He’d have been in the way.” + +“That’s right,” rejoined Nancy. + +“So you’ve got the kid,” said Sikes when they had all reached the room: +closing the door as he spoke. + +“Yes, here he is,” replied Nancy. + +“Did he come quiet?” inquired Sikes. + +“Like a lamb,” rejoined Nancy. + +“I’m glad to hear it,” said Sikes, looking grimly at Oliver; “for the +sake of his young carcase: as would otherways have suffered for it. +Come here, young ’un; and let me read you a lectur’, which is as well +got over at once.” + +Thus addressing his new pupil, Mr. Sikes pulled off Oliver’s cap and +threw it into a corner; and then, taking him by the shoulder, sat +himself down by the table, and stood the boy in front of him. + +“Now, first: do you know wot this is?” inquired Sikes, taking up a +pocket-pistol which lay on the table. + +Oliver replied in the affirmative. + +“Well, then, look here,” continued Sikes. “This is powder; that ’ere’s +a bullet; and this is a little bit of a old hat for waddin’.” + +Oliver murmured his comprehension of the different bodies referred to; +and Mr. Sikes proceeded to load the pistol, with great nicety and +deliberation. + +“Now it’s loaded,” said Mr. Sikes, when he had finished. + +“Yes, I see it is, sir,” replied Oliver. + +“Well,” said the robber, grasping Oliver’s wrist, and putting the +barrel so close to his temple that they touched; at which moment the +boy could not repress a start; “if you speak a word when you’re out +o’doors with me, except when I speak to you, that loading will be in +your head without notice. So, if you _do_ make up your mind to speak +without leave, say your prayers first.” + +Having bestowed a scowl upon the object of this warning, to increase +its effect, Mr. Sikes continued. + +“As near as I know, there isn’t anybody as would be asking very +partickler arter you, if you _was_ disposed of; so I needn’t take this +devil-and-all of trouble to explain matters to you, if it warn’t for +your own good. D’ye hear me?” + +“The short and the long of what you mean,” said Nancy: speaking very +emphatically, and slightly frowning at Oliver as if to bespeak his +serious attention to her words: “is, that if you’re crossed by him in +this job you have on hand, you’ll prevent his ever telling tales +afterwards, by shooting him through the head, and will take your chance +of swinging for it, as you do for a great many other things in the way +of business, every month of your life.” + +“That’s it!” observed Mr. Sikes, approvingly; “women can always put +things in fewest words.—Except when it’s blowing up; and then they +lengthens it out. And now that he’s thoroughly up to it, let’s have +some supper, and get a snooze before starting.” + +In pursuance of this request, Nancy quickly laid the cloth; +disappearing for a few minutes, she presently returned with a pot of +porter and a dish of sheep’s heads: which gave occasion to several +pleasant witticisms on the part of Mr. Sikes, founded upon the singular +coincidence of “jemmies” being a can name, common to them, and also to +an ingenious implement much used in his profession. Indeed, the worthy +gentleman, stimulated perhaps by the immediate prospect of being on +active service, was in great spirits and good humour; in proof whereof, +it may be here remarked, that he humourously drank all the beer at a +draught, and did not utter, on a rough calculation, more than +four-score oaths during the whole progress of the meal. + +Supper being ended—it may be easily conceived that Oliver had no great +appetite for it—Mr. Sikes disposed of a couple of glasses of spirits +and water, and threw himself on the bed; ordering Nancy, with many +imprecations in case of failure, to call him at five precisely. Oliver +stretched himself in his clothes, by command of the same authority, on +a mattress upon the floor; and the girl, mending the fire, sat before +it, in readiness to rouse them at the appointed time. + +For a long time Oliver lay awake, thinking it not impossible that Nancy +might seek that opportunity of whispering some further advice; but the +girl sat brooding over the fire, without moving, save now and then to +trim the light. Weary with watching and anxiety, he at length fell +asleep. + +When he awoke, the table was covered with tea-things, and Sikes was +thrusting various articles into the pockets of his great-coat, which +hung over the back of a chair. Nancy was busily engaged in preparing +breakfast. It was not yet daylight; for the candle was still burning, +and it was quite dark outside. A sharp rain, too, was beating against +the window-panes; and the sky looked black and cloudy. + +“Now, then!” growled Sikes, as Oliver started up; “half-past five! Look +sharp, or you’ll get no breakfast; for it’s late as it is.” + +Oliver was not long in making his toilet; having taken some breakfast, +he replied to a surly inquiry from Sikes, by saying that he was quite +ready. + +Nancy, scarcely looking at the boy, threw him a handkerchief to tie +round his throat; Sikes gave him a large rough cape to button over his +shoulders. Thus attired, he gave his hand to the robber, who, merely +pausing to show him with a menacing gesture that he had that same +pistol in a side-pocket of his great-coat, clasped it firmly in his, +and, exchanging a farewell with Nancy, led him away. + +Oliver turned, for an instant, when they reached the door, in the hope +of meeting a look from the girl. But she had resumed her old seat in +front of the fire, and sat, perfectly motionless before it. + + + + + CHAPTER XXI. +THE EXPEDITION + + +It was a cheerless morning when they got into the street; blowing and +raining hard; and the clouds looking dull and stormy. The night had +been very wet: large pools of water had collected in the road: and the +kennels were overflowing. There was a faint glimmering of the coming +day in the sky; but it rather aggravated than relieved the gloom of the +scene: the sombre light only serving to pale that which the street +lamps afforded, without shedding any warmer or brighter tints upon the +wet house-tops, and dreary streets. There appeared to be nobody +stirring in that quarter of the town; the windows of the houses were +all closely shut; and the streets through which they passed, were +noiseless and empty. + +By the time they had turned into the Bethnal Green Road, the day had +fairly begun to break. Many of the lamps were already extinguished; a +few country waggons were slowly toiling on, towards London; now and +then, a stage-coach, covered with mud, rattled briskly by: the driver +bestowing, as he passed, an admonitory lash upon the heavy waggoner +who, by keeping on the wrong side of the road, had endangered his +arriving at the office, a quarter of a minute after his time. The +public-houses, with gas-lights burning inside, were already open. By +degrees, other shops began to be unclosed, and a few scattered people +were met with. Then, came straggling groups of labourers going to their +work; then, men and women with fish-baskets on their heads; +donkey-carts laden with vegetables; chaise-carts filled with live-stock +or whole carcasses of meat; milk-women with pails; an unbroken +concourse of people, trudging out with various supplies to the eastern +suburbs of the town. As they approached the City, the noise and traffic +gradually increased; when they threaded the streets between Shoreditch +and Smithfield, it had swelled into a roar of sound and bustle. It was +as light as it was likely to be, till night came on again, and the busy +morning of half the London population had begun. + +Turning down Sun Street and Crown Street, and crossing Finsbury square, +Mr. Sikes struck, by way of Chiswell Street, into Barbican: thence into +Long Lane, and so into Smithfield; from which latter place arose a +tumult of discordant sounds that filled Oliver Twist with amazement. + +It was market-morning. The ground was covered, nearly ankle-deep, with +filth and mire; a thick steam, perpetually rising from the reeking +bodies of the cattle, and mingling with the fog, which seemed to rest +upon the chimney-tops, hung heavily above. All the pens in the centre +of the large area, and as many temporary pens as could be crowded into +the vacant space, were filled with sheep; tied up to posts by the +gutter side were long lines of beasts and oxen, three or four deep. +Countrymen, butchers, drovers, hawkers, boys, thieves, idlers, and +vagabonds of every low grade, were mingled together in a mass; the +whistling of drovers, the barking dogs, the bellowing and plunging of +the oxen, the bleating of sheep, the grunting and squeaking of pigs, +the cries of hawkers, the shouts, oaths, and quarrelling on all sides; +the ringing of bells and roar of voices, that issued from every +public-house; the crowding, pushing, driving, beating, whooping and +yelling; the hideous and discordant dim that resounded from every +corner of the market; and the unwashed, unshaven, squalid, and dirty +figures constantly running to and fro, and bursting in and out of the +throng; rendered it a stunning and bewildering scene, which quite +confounded the senses. + +Mr. Sikes, dragging Oliver after him, elbowed his way through the +thickest of the crowd, and bestowed very little attention on the +numerous sights and sounds, which so astonished the boy. He nodded, +twice or thrice, to a passing friend; and, resisting as many +invitations to take a morning dram, pressed steadily onward, until they +were clear of the turmoil, and had made their way through Hosier Lane +into Holborn. + +“Now, young ’un!” said Sikes, looking up at the clock of St. Andrew’s +Church, “hard upon seven! you must step out. Come, don’t lag behind +already, Lazy-legs!” + +Mr. Sikes accompanied this speech with a jerk at his little companion’s +wrist; Oliver, quickening his pace into a kind of trot between a fast +walk and a run, kept up with the rapid strides of the house-breaker as +well as he could. + +They held their course at this rate, until they had passed Hyde Park +corner, and were on their way to Kensington: when Sikes relaxed his +pace, until an empty cart which was at some little distance behind, +came up. Seeing “Hounslow” written on it, he asked the driver with as +much civility as he could assume, if he would give them a lift as far +as Isleworth. + +“Jump up,” said the man. “Is that your boy?” + +“Yes; he’s my boy,” replied Sikes, looking hard at Oliver, and putting +his hand abstractedly into the pocket where the pistol was. + +“Your father walks rather too quick for you, don’t he, my man?” +inquired the driver: seeing that Oliver was out of breath. + +“Not a bit of it,” replied Sikes, interposing. “He’s used to it. Here, +take hold of my hand, Ned. In with you!” + +Thus addressing Oliver, he helped him into the cart; and the driver, +pointing to a heap of sacks, told him to lie down there, and rest +himself. + +As they passed the different mile-stones, Oliver wondered, more and +more, where his companion meant to take him. Kensington, Hammersmith, +Chiswick, Kew Bridge, Brentford, were all passed; and yet they went on +as steadily as if they had only just begun their journey. At length, +they came to a public-house called the Coach and Horses; a little way +beyond which, another road appeared to run off. And here, the cart +stopped. + +Sikes dismounted with great precipitation, holding Oliver by the hand +all the while; and lifting him down directly, bestowed a furious look +upon him, and rapped the side-pocket with his fist, in a significant +manner. + +“Good-bye, boy,” said the man. + +“He’s sulky,” replied Sikes, giving him a shake; “he’s sulky. A young +dog! Don’t mind him.” + +“Not I!” rejoined the other, getting into his cart. “It’s a fine day, +after all.” And he drove away. + +Sikes waited until he had fairly gone; and then, telling Oliver he +might look about him if he wanted, once again led him onward on his +journey. + +They turned round to the left, a short way past the public-house; and +then, taking a right-hand road, walked on for a long time: passing many +large gardens and gentlemen’s houses on both sides of the way, and +stopping for nothing but a little beer, until they reached a town. Here +against the wall of a house, Oliver saw written up in pretty large +letters, “Hampton.” They lingered about, in the fields, for some hours. +At length they came back into the town; and, turning into an old +public-house with a defaced sign-board, ordered some dinner by the +kitchen fire. + +The kitchen was an old, low-roofed room; with a great beam across the +middle of the ceiling, and benches, with high backs to them, by the +fire; on which were seated several rough men in smock-frocks, drinking +and smoking. They took no notice of Oliver; and very little of Sikes; +and, as Sikes took very little notice of them, he and his young comrade +sat in a corner by themselves, without being much troubled by their +company. + +They had some cold meat for dinner, and sat so long after it, while Mr. +Sikes indulged himself with three or four pipes, that Oliver began to +feel quite certain they were not going any further. Being much tired +with the walk, and getting up so early, he dozed a little at first; +then, quite overpowered by fatigue and the fumes of the tobacco, fell +asleep. + +It was quite dark when he was awakened by a push from Sikes. Rousing +himself sufficiently to sit up and look about him, he found that worthy +in close fellowship and communication with a labouring man, over a pint +of ale. + +“So, you’re going on to Lower Halliford, are you?” inquired Sikes. + +“Yes, I am,” replied the man, who seemed a little the worse—or better, +as the case might be—for drinking; “and not slow about it neither. My +horse hasn’t got a load behind him going back, as he had coming up in +the mornin’; and he won’t be long a-doing of it. Here’s luck to him. +Ecod! he’s a good ’un!” + +“Could you give my boy and me a lift as far as there?” demanded Sikes, +pushing the ale towards his new friend. + +“If you’re going directly, I can,” replied the man, looking out of the +pot. “Are you going to Halliford?” + +“Going on to Shepperton,” replied Sikes. + +“I’m your man, as far as I go,” replied the other. “Is all paid, +Becky?” + +“Yes, the other gentleman’s paid,” replied the girl. + +“I say!” said the man, with tipsy gravity; “that won’t do, you know.” + +“Why not?” rejoined Sikes. “You’re a-going to accommodate us, and wot’s +to prevent my standing treat for a pint or so, in return?” + +The stranger reflected upon this argument, with a very profound face; +having done so, he seized Sikes by the hand: and declared he was a real +good fellow. To which Mr. Sikes replied, he was joking; as, if he had +been sober, there would have been strong reason to suppose he was. + +After the exchange of a few more compliments, they bade the company +good-night, and went out; the girl gathering up the pots and glasses as +they did so, and lounging out to the door, with her hands full, to see +the party start. + +The horse, whose health had been drunk in his absence, was standing +outside: ready harnessed to the cart. Oliver and Sikes got in without +any further ceremony; and the man to whom he belonged, having lingered +for a minute or two “to bear him up,” and to defy the hostler and the +world to produce his equal, mounted also. Then, the hostler was told to +give the horse his head; and, his head being given him, he made a very +unpleasant use of it: tossing it into the air with great disdain, and +running into the parlour windows over the way; after performing those +feats, and supporting himself for a short time on his hind-legs, he +started off at great speed, and rattled out of the town right +gallantly. + +The night was very dark. A damp mist rose from the river, and the +marshy ground about; and spread itself over the dreary fields. It was +piercing cold, too; all was gloomy and black. Not a word was spoken; +for the driver had grown sleepy; and Sikes was in no mood to lead him +into conversation. Oliver sat huddled together, in a corner of the +cart; bewildered with alarm and apprehension; and figuring strange +objects in the gaunt trees, whose branches waved grimly to and fro, as +if in some fantastic joy at the desolation of the scene. + +As they passed Sunbury Church, the clock struck seven. There was a +light in the ferry-house window opposite: which streamed across the +road, and threw into more sombre shadow a dark yew-tree with graves +beneath it. There was a dull sound of falling water not far off; and +the leaves of the old tree stirred gently in the night wind. It seemed +like quiet music for the repose of the dead. + +Sunbury was passed through, and they came again into the lonely road. +Two or three miles more, and the cart stopped. Sikes alighted, took +Oliver by the hand, and they once again walked on. + +They turned into no house at Shepperton, as the weary boy had expected; +but still kept walking on, in mud and darkness, through gloomy lanes +and over cold open wastes, until they came within sight of the lights +of a town at no great distance. On looking intently forward, Oliver saw +that the water was just below them, and that they were coming to the +foot of a bridge. + +Sikes kept straight on, until they were close upon the bridge; then +turned suddenly down a bank upon the left. + +“The water!” thought Oliver, turning sick with fear. “He has brought me +to this lonely place to murder me!” + +He was about to throw himself on the ground, and make one struggle for +his young life, when he saw that they stood before a solitary house: +all ruinous and decayed. There was a window on each side of the +dilapidated entrance; and one story above; but no light was visible. +The house was dark, dismantled: and, to all appearance, uninhabited. + +Sikes, with Oliver’s hand still in his, softly approached the low +porch, and raised the latch. The door yielded to the pressure, and they +passed in together. + + + + + CHAPTER XXII. +THE BURGLARY + + +“Hallo!” cried a loud, hoarse voice, as soon as they set foot in the +passage. + +“Don’t make such a row,” said Sikes, bolting the door. “Show a glim, +Toby.” + +“Aha! my pal!” cried the same voice. “A glim, Barney, a glim! Show the +gentleman in, Barney; wake up first, if convenient.” + +The speaker appeared to throw a boot-jack, or some such article, at the +person he addressed, to rouse him from his slumbers: for the noise of a +wooden body, falling violently, was heard; and then an indistinct +muttering, as of a man between sleep and awake. + +“Do you hear?” cried the same voice. “There’s Bill Sikes in the passage +with nobody to do the civil to him; and you sleeping there, as if you +took laudanum with your meals, and nothing stronger. Are you any +fresher now, or do you want the iron candlestick to wake you +thoroughly?” + +A pair of slipshod feet shuffled, hastily, across the bare floor of the +room, as this interrogatory was put; and there issued, from a door on +the right hand; first, a feeble candle: and next, the form of the same +individual who has been heretofore described as labouring under the +infirmity of speaking through his nose, and officiating as waiter at +the public-house on Saffron Hill. + +“Bister Sikes!” exclaimed Barney, with real or counterfeit joy; “cub +id, sir; cub id.” + +“Here! you get on first,” said Sikes, putting Oliver in front of him. +“Quicker! or I shall tread upon your heels.” + +Muttering a curse upon his tardiness, Sikes pushed Oliver before him; +and they entered a low dark room with a smoky fire, two or three broken +chairs, a table, and a very old couch: on which, with his legs much +higher than his head, a man was reposing at full length, smoking a long +clay pipe. He was dressed in a smartly-cut snuff-coloured coat, with +large brass buttons; an orange neckerchief; a coarse, staring, +shawl-pattern waistcoat; and drab breeches. Mr. Crackit (for he it was) +had no very great quantity of hair, either upon his head or face; but +what he had, was of a reddish dye, and tortured into long corkscrew +curls, through which he occasionally thrust some very dirty fingers, +ornamented with large common rings. He was a trifle above the middle +size, and apparently rather weak in the legs; but this circumstance by +no means detracted from his own admiration of his top-boots, which he +contemplated, in their elevated situation, with lively satisfaction. + +“Bill, my boy!” said this figure, turning his head towards the door, +“I’m glad to see you. I was almost afraid you’d given it up: in which +case I should have made a personal wentur. Hallo!” + +Uttering this exclamation in a tone of great surprise, as his eyes +rested on Oliver, Mr. Toby Crackit brought himself into a sitting +posture, and demanded who that was. + +“The boy. Only the boy!” replied Sikes, drawing a chair towards the +fire. + +“Wud of Bister Fagid’s lads,” exclaimed Barney, with a grin. + +“Fagin’s, eh!” exclaimed Toby, looking at Oliver. “Wot an inwalable boy +that’ll make, for the old ladies’ pockets in chapels! His mug is a +fortin’ to him.” + +“There—there’s enough of that,” interposed Sikes, impatiently; and +stooping over his recumbant friend, he whispered a few words in his +ear: at which Mr. Crackit laughed immensely, and honoured Oliver with a +long stare of astonishment. + +“Now,” said Sikes, as he resumed his seat, “if you’ll give us something +to eat and drink while we’re waiting, you’ll put some heart in us; or +in me, at all events. Sit down by the fire, younker, and rest yourself; +for you’ll have to go out with us again tonight, though not very far +off.” + +Oliver looked at Sikes, in mute and timid wonder; and drawing a stool +to the fire, sat with his aching head upon his hands, scarcely knowing +where he was, or what was passing around him. + +“Here,” said Toby, as the young Jew placed some fragments of food, and +a bottle upon the table, “Success to the crack!” He rose to honour the +toast; and, carefully depositing his empty pipe in a corner, advanced +to the table, filled a glass with spirits, and drank off its contents. +Mr. Sikes did the same. + +“A drain for the boy,” said Toby, half-filling a wine-glass. “Down with +it, innocence.” + +“Indeed,” said Oliver, looking piteously up into the man’s face; +“indeed, I—” + +“Down with it!” echoed Toby. “Do you think I don’t know what’s good for +you? Tell him to drink it, Bill.” + +“He had better!” said Sikes clapping his hand upon his pocket. “Burn my +body, if he isn’t more trouble than a whole family of Dodgers. Drink +it, you perwerse imp; drink it!” + +Frightened by the menacing gestures of the two men, Oliver hastily +swallowed the contents of the glass, and immediately fell into a +violent fit of coughing: which delighted Toby Crackit and Barney, and +even drew a smile from the surly Mr. Sikes. + +This done, and Sikes having satisfied his appetite (Oliver could eat +nothing but a small crust of bread which they made him swallow), the +two men laid themselves down on chairs for a short nap. Oliver retained +his stool by the fire; Barney wrapped in a blanket, stretched himself +on the floor: close outside the fender. + +They slept, or appeared to sleep, for some time; nobody stirring but +Barney, who rose once or twice to throw coals on the fire. Oliver fell +into a heavy doze: imagining himself straying along the gloomy lanes, +or wandering about the dark churchyard, or retracing some one or other +of the scenes of the past day: when he was roused by Toby Crackit +jumping up and declaring it was half-past one. + +In an instant, the other two were on their legs, and all were actively +engaged in busy preparation. Sikes and his companion enveloped their +necks and chins in large dark shawls, and drew on their great-coats; +Barney, opening a cupboard, brought forth several articles, which he +hastily crammed into the pockets. + +“Barkers for me, Barney,” said Toby Crackit. + +“Here they are,” replied Barney, producing a pair of pistols. “You +loaded them yourself.” + +“All right!” replied Toby, stowing them away. “The persuaders?” + +“I’ve got ’em,” replied Sikes. + +“Crape, keys, centre-bits, darkies—nothing forgotten?” inquired Toby: +fastening a small crowbar to a loop inside the skirt of his coat. + +“All right,” rejoined his companion. “Bring them bits of timber, +Barney. That’s the time of day.” + +With these words, he took a thick stick from Barney’s hands, who, +having delivered another to Toby, busied himself in fastening on +Oliver’s cape. + +“Now then!” said Sikes, holding out his hand. + +Oliver: who was completely stupified by the unwonted exercise, and the +air, and the drink which had been forced upon him: put his hand +mechanically into that which Sikes extended for the purpose. + +“Take his other hand, Toby,” said Sikes. “Look out, Barney.” + +The man went to the door, and returned to announce that all was quiet. +The two robbers issued forth with Oliver between them. Barney, having +made all fast, rolled himself up as before, and was soon asleep again. + +It was now intensely dark. The fog was much heavier than it had been in +the early part of the night; and the atmosphere was so damp, that, +although no rain fell, Oliver’s hair and eyebrows, within a few minutes +after leaving the house, had become stiff with the half-frozen moisture +that was floating about. They crossed the bridge, and kept on towards +the lights which he had seen before. They were at no great distance +off; and, as they walked pretty briskly, they soon arrived at Chertsey. + +“Slap through the town,” whispered Sikes; “there’ll be nobody in the +way, tonight, to see us.” + +Toby acquiesced; and they hurried through the main street of the little +town, which at that late hour was wholly deserted. A dim light shone at +intervals from some bed-room window; and the hoarse barking of dogs +occasionally broke the silence of the night. But there was nobody +abroad. They had cleared the town, as the church-bell struck two. + +Quickening their pace, they turned up a road upon the left hand. After +walking about a quarter of a mile, they stopped before a detached house +surrounded by a wall: to the top of which, Toby Crackit, scarcely +pausing to take breath, climbed in a twinkling. + +“The boy next,” said Toby. “Hoist him up; I’ll catch hold of him.” + +Before Oliver had time to look round, Sikes had caught him under the +arms; and in three or four seconds he and Toby were lying on the grass +on the other side. Sikes followed directly. And they stole cautiously +towards the house. + +And now, for the first time, Oliver, well-nigh mad with grief and +terror, saw that housebreaking and robbery, if not murder, were the +objects of the expedition. He clasped his hands together, and +involuntarily uttered a subdued exclamation of horror. A mist came +before his eyes; the cold sweat stood upon his ashy face; his limbs +failed him; and he sank upon his knees. + +“Get up!” murmured Sikes, trembling with rage, and drawing the pistol +from his pocket; “Get up, or I’ll strew your brains upon the grass.” + +“Oh! for God’s sake let me go!” cried Oliver; “let me run away and die +in the fields. I will never come near London; never, never! Oh! pray +have mercy on me, and do not make me steal. For the love of all the +bright Angels that rest in Heaven, have mercy upon me!” + +The man to whom this appeal was made, swore a dreadful oath, and had +cocked the pistol, when Toby, striking it from his grasp, placed his +hand upon the boy’s mouth, and dragged him to the house. + +“Hush!” cried the man; “it won’t answer here. Say another word, and +I’ll do your business myself with a crack on the head. That makes no +noise, and is quite as certain, and more genteel. Here, Bill, wrench +the shutter open. He’s game enough now, I’ll engage. I’ve seen older +hands of his age took the same way, for a minute or two, on a cold +night.” + +Sikes, invoking terrific imprecations upon Fagin’s head for sending +Oliver on such an errand, plied the crowbar vigorously, but with little +noise. After some delay, and some assistance from Toby, the shutter to +which he had referred, swung open on its hinges. + +It was a little lattice window, about five feet and a half above the +ground, at the back of the house: which belonged to a scullery, or +small brewing-place, at the end of the passage. The aperture was so +small, that the inmates had probably not thought it worth while to +defend it more securely; but it was large enough to admit a boy of +Oliver’s size, nevertheless. A very brief exercise of Mr. Sike’s art, +sufficed to overcome the fastening of the lattice; and it soon stood +wide open also. + +“Now listen, you young limb,” whispered Sikes, drawing a dark lantern +from his pocket, and throwing the glare full on Oliver’s face; “I’m a +going to put you through there. Take this light; go softly up the steps +straight afore you, and along the little hall, to the street door; +unfasten it, and let us in.” + +“There’s a bolt at the top, you won’t be able to reach,” interposed +Toby. “Stand upon one of the hall chairs. There are three there, Bill, +with a jolly large blue unicorn and gold pitchfork on ’em: which is the +old lady’s arms.” + +“Keep quiet, can’t you?” replied Sikes, with a threatening look. “The +room-door is open, is it?” + +“Wide,” replied Toby, after peeping in to satisfy himself. “The game of +that is, that they always leave it open with a catch, so that the dog, +who’s got a bed in here, may walk up and down the passage when he feels +wakeful. Ha! ha! Barney ’ticed him away tonight. So neat!” + +Although Mr. Crackit spoke in a scarcely audible whisper, and laughed +without noise, Sikes imperiously commanded him to be silent, and to get +to work. Toby complied, by first producing his lantern, and placing it +on the ground; then by planting himself firmly with his head against +the wall beneath the window, and his hands upon his knees, so as to +make a step of his back. This was no sooner done, than Sikes, mounting +upon him, put Oliver gently through the window with his feet first; +and, without leaving hold of his collar, planted him safely on the +floor inside. + +“Take this lantern,” said Sikes, looking into the room. “You see the +stairs afore you?” + +Oliver, more dead than alive, gasped out, “Yes.” Sikes, pointing to the +street-door with the pistol-barrel, briefly advised him to take notice +that he was within shot all the way; and that if he faltered, he would +fall dead that instant. + +“It’s done in a minute,” said Sikes, in the same low whisper. “Directly +I leave go of you, do your work. Hark!” + +“What’s that?” whispered the other man. + +They listened intently. + +“Nothing,” said Sikes, releasing his hold of Oliver. “Now!” + +In the short time he had had to collect his senses, the boy had firmly +resolved that, whether he died in the attempt or not, he would make one +effort to dart upstairs from the hall, and alarm the family. Filled +with this idea, he advanced at once, but stealthily. + +“Come back!” suddenly cried Sikes aloud. “Back! back!” + +Scared by the sudden breaking of the dead stillness of the place, and +by a loud cry which followed it, Oliver let his lantern fall, and knew +not whether to advance or fly. + +The cry was repeated—a light appeared—a vision of two terrified +half-dressed men at the top of the stairs swam before his eyes—a +flash—a loud noise—a smoke—a crash somewhere, but where he knew +not,—and he staggered back. + +Sikes had disappeared for an instant; but he was up again, and had him +by the collar before the smoke had cleared away. He fired his own +pistol after the men, who were already retreating; and dragged the boy +up. + +“Clasp your arm tighter,” said Sikes, as he drew him through the +window. “Give me a shawl here. They’ve hit him. Quick! How the boy +bleeds!” + +Then came the loud ringing of a bell, mingled with the noise of +fire-arms, and the shouts of men, and the sensation of being carried +over uneven ground at a rapid pace. And then, the noises grew confused +in the distance; and a cold deadly feeling crept over the boy’s heart; +and he saw or heard no more. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIII. +WHICH CONTAINS THE SUBSTANCE OF A PLEASANT CONVERSATION BETWEEN MR. +BUMBLE AND A LADY; AND SHOWS THAT EVEN A BEADLE MAY BE SUSCEPTIBLE ON +SOME POINTS + + +The night was bitter cold. The snow lay on the ground, frozen into a +hard thick crust, so that only the heaps that had drifted into byways +and corners were affected by the sharp wind that howled abroad: which, +as if expending increased fury on such prey as it found, caught it +savagely up in clouds, and, whirling it into a thousand misty eddies, +scattered it in air. Bleak, dark, and piercing cold, it was a night for +the well-housed and fed to draw round the bright fire and thank God +they were at home; and for the homeless, starving wretch to lay him +down and die. Many hunger-worn outcasts close their eyes in our bare +streets, at such times, who, let their crimes have been what they may, +can hardly open them in a more bitter world. + +Such was the aspect of out-of-doors affairs, when Mrs. Corney, the +matron of the workhouse to which our readers have been already +introduced as the birthplace of Oliver Twist, sat herself down before a +cheerful fire in her own little room, and glanced, with no small degree +of complacency, at a small round table: on which stood a tray of +corresponding size, furnished with all necessary materials for the most +grateful meal that matrons enjoy. In fact, Mrs. Corney was about to +solace herself with a cup of tea. As she glanced from the table to the +fireplace, where the smallest of all possible kettles was singing a +small song in a small voice, her inward satisfaction evidently +increased,—so much so, indeed, that Mrs. Corney smiled. + +“Well!” said the matron, leaning her elbow on the table, and looking +reflectively at the fire; “I’m sure we have all on us a great deal to +be grateful for! A great deal, if we did but know it. Ah!” + +Mrs. Corney shook her head mournfully, as if deploring the mental +blindness of those paupers who did not know it; and thrusting a silver +spoon (private property) into the inmost recesses of a two-ounce tin +tea-caddy, proceeded to make the tea. + +How slight a thing will disturb the equanimity of our frail minds! The +black teapot, being very small and easily filled, ran over while Mrs. +Corney was moralising; and the water slightly scalded Mrs. Corney’s +hand. + +“Drat the pot!” said the worthy matron, setting it down very hastily on +the hob; “a little stupid thing, that only holds a couple of cups! What +use is it of, to anybody! Except,” said Mrs. Corney, pausing, “except +to a poor desolate creature like me. Oh dear!” + +With these words, the matron dropped into her chair, and, once more +resting her elbow on the table, thought of her solitary fate. The small +teapot, and the single cup, had awakened in her mind sad recollections +of Mr. Corney (who had not been dead more than five-and-twenty years); +and she was overpowered. + +“I shall never get another!” said Mrs. Corney, pettishly; “I shall +never get another—like him.” + +Whether this remark bore reference to the husband, or the teapot, is +uncertain. It might have been the latter; for Mrs. Corney looked at it +as she spoke; and took it up afterwards. She had just tasted her first +cup, when she was disturbed by a soft tap at the room-door. + +“Oh, come in with you!” said Mrs. Corney, sharply. “Some of the old +women dying, I suppose. They always die when I’m at meals. Don’t stand +there, letting the cold air in, don’t. What’s amiss now, eh?” + +“Nothing, ma’am, nothing,” replied a man’s voice. + +“Dear me!” exclaimed the matron, in a much sweeter tone, “is that Mr. +Bumble?” + +“At your service, ma’am,” said Mr. Bumble, who had been stopping +outside to rub his shoes clean, and to shake the snow off his coat; and +who now made his appearance, bearing the cocked hat in one hand and a +bundle in the other. “Shall I shut the door, ma’am?” + +The lady modestly hesitated to reply, lest there should be any +impropriety in holding an interview with Mr. Bumble, with closed doors. +Mr. Bumble taking advantage of the hesitation, and being very cold +himself, shut it without permission. + +“Hard weather, Mr. Bumble,” said the matron. + +“Hard, indeed, ma’am,” replied the beadle. “Anti-porochial weather +this, ma’am. We have given away, Mrs. Corney, we have given away a +matter of twenty quartern loaves and a cheese and a half, this very +blessed afternoon; and yet them paupers are not contented.” + +“Of course not. When would they be, Mr. Bumble?” said the matron, +sipping her tea. + +“When, indeed, ma’am!” rejoined Mr. Bumble. “Why here’s one man that, +in consideration of his wife and large family, has a quartern loaf and +a good pound of cheese, full weight. Is he grateful, ma’am? Is he +grateful? Not a copper farthing’s worth of it! What does he do, ma’am, +but ask for a few coals; if it’s only a pocket handkerchief full, he +says! Coals! What would he do with coals? Toast his cheese with ’em and +then come back for more. That’s the way with these people, ma’am; give +’em a apron full of coals today, and they’ll come back for another, +the day after tomorrow, as brazen as alabaster.” + +The matron expressed her entire concurrence in this intelligible +simile; and the beadle went on. + +“I never,” said Mr. Bumble, “see anything like the pitch it’s got to. +The day afore yesterday, a man—you have been a married woman, ma’am, +and I may mention it to you—a man, with hardly a rag upon his back +(here Mrs. Corney looked at the floor), goes to our overseer’s door +when he has got company coming to dinner; and says, he must be +relieved, Mrs. Corney. As he wouldn’t go away, and shocked the company +very much, our overseer sent him out a pound of potatoes and half a +pint of oatmeal. ‘My heart!’ says the ungrateful villain, ‘what’s the +use of _this_ to me? You might as well give me a pair of iron +spectacles!’ ‘Very good,’ says our overseer, taking ’em away again, +‘you won’t get anything else here.’ ‘Then I’ll die in the streets!’ +says the vagrant. ‘Oh no, you won’t,’ says our overseer.” + +“Ha! ha! That was very good! So like Mr. Grannett, wasn’t it?” +interposed the matron. “Well, Mr. Bumble?” + +“Well, ma’am,” rejoined the beadle, “he went away; and he _did_ die in +the streets. There’s a obstinate pauper for you!” + +“It beats anything I could have believed,” observed the matron +emphatically. “But don’t you think out-of-door relief a very bad thing, +any way, Mr. Bumble? You’re a gentleman of experience, and ought to +know. Come.” + +“Mrs. Corney,” said the beadle, smiling as men smile who are conscious +of superior information, “out-of-door relief, properly managed: +properly managed, ma’am: is the porochial safeguard. The great +principle of out-of-door relief is, to give the paupers exactly what +they don’t want; and then they get tired of coming.” + +“Dear me!” exclaimed Mrs. Corney. “Well, that is a good one, too!” + +“Yes. Betwixt you and me, ma’am,” returned Mr. Bumble, “that’s the +great principle; and that’s the reason why, if you look at any cases +that get into them owdacious newspapers, you’ll always observe that +sick families have been relieved with slices of cheese. That’s the rule +now, Mrs. Corney, all over the country. But, however,” said the beadle, +stopping to unpack his bundle, “these are official secrets, ma’am; not +to be spoken of; except, as I may say, among the porochial officers, +such as ourselves. This is the port wine, ma’am, that the board ordered +for the infirmary; real, fresh, genuine port wine; only out of the cask +this forenoon; clear as a bell, and no sediment!” + +Having held the first bottle up to the light, and shaken it well to +test its excellence, Mr. Bumble placed them both on top of a chest of +drawers; folded the handkerchief in which they had been wrapped; put it +carefully in his pocket; and took up his hat, as if to go. + +“You’ll have a very cold walk, Mr. Bumble,” said the matron. + +“It blows, ma’am,” replied Mr. Bumble, turning up his coat-collar, +“enough to cut one’s ears off.” + +The matron looked, from the little kettle, to the beadle, who was +moving towards the door; and as the beadle coughed, preparatory to +bidding her good-night, bashfully inquired whether—whether he wouldn’t +take a cup of tea? + +Mr. Bumble instantaneously turned back his collar again; laid his hat +and stick upon a chair; and drew another chair up to the table. As he +slowly seated himself, he looked at the lady. She fixed her eyes upon +the little teapot. Mr. Bumble coughed again, and slightly smiled. + +Mrs. Corney rose to get another cup and saucer from the closet. As she +sat down, her eyes once again encountered those of the gallant beadle; +she coloured, and applied herself to the task of making his tea. Again +Mr. Bumble coughed—louder this time than he had coughed yet. + +“Sweet? Mr. Bumble?” inquired the matron, taking up the sugar-basin. + +“Very sweet, indeed, ma’am,” replied Mr. Bumble. He fixed his eyes on +Mrs. Corney as he said this; and if ever a beadle looked tender, Mr. +Bumble was that beadle at that moment. + +The tea was made, and handed in silence. Mr. Bumble, having spread a +handkerchief over his knees to prevent the crumbs from sullying the +splendour of his shorts, began to eat and drink; varying these +amusements, occasionally, by fetching a deep sigh; which, however, had +no injurious effect upon his appetite, but, on the contrary, rather +seemed to facilitate his operations in the tea and toast department. + +“You have a cat, ma’am, I see,” said Mr. Bumble, glancing at one who, +in the centre of her family, was basking before the fire; “and kittens +too, I declare!” + +“I am so fond of them, Mr. Bumble, you can’t think,” replied the +matron. “They’re _so_ happy, _so_ frolicsome, and _so_ cheerful, that +they are quite companions for me.” + +“Very nice animals, ma’am,” replied Mr. Bumble, approvingly; “so very +domestic.” + +“Oh, yes!” rejoined the matron with enthusiasm; “so fond of their home +too, that it’s quite a pleasure, I’m sure.” + +“Mrs. Corney, ma’am,” said Mr. Bumble, slowly, and marking the time +with his teaspoon, “I mean to say this, ma’am; that any cat, or kitten, +that could live with you, ma’am, and _not_ be fond of its home, must be +a ass, ma’am.” + +“Oh, Mr. Bumble!” remonstrated Mrs. Corney. + +“It’s of no use disguising facts, ma’am,” said Mr. Bumble, slowly +flourishing the teaspoon with a kind of amorous dignity which made him +doubly impressive; “I would drown it myself, with pleasure.” + +“Then you’re a cruel man,” said the matron vivaciously, as she held out +her hand for the beadle’s cup; “and a very hard-hearted man besides.” + +“Hard-hearted, ma’am?” said Mr. Bumble. “Hard?” Mr. Bumble resigned his +cup without another word; squeezed Mrs. Corney’s little finger as she +took it; and inflicting two open-handed slaps upon his laced waistcoat, +gave a mighty sigh, and hitched his chair a very little morsel farther +from the fire. + +It was a round table; and as Mrs. Corney and Mr. Bumble had been +sitting opposite each other, with no great space between them, and +fronting the fire, it will be seen that Mr. Bumble, in receding from +the fire, and still keeping at the table, increased the distance +between himself and Mrs. Corney; which proceeding, some prudent readers +will doubtless be disposed to admire, and to consider an act of great +heroism on Mr. Bumble’s part: he being in some sort tempted by time, +place, and opportunity, to give utterance to certain soft nothings, +which however well they may become the lips of the light and +thoughtless, do seem immeasurably beneath the dignity of judges of the +land, members of parliament, ministers of state, lord mayors, and other +great public functionaries, but more particularly beneath the +stateliness and gravity of a beadle: who (as is well known) should be +the sternest and most inflexible among them all. + +Whatever were Mr. Bumble’s intentions, however (and no doubt they were +of the best): it unfortunately happened, as has been twice before +remarked, that the table was a round one; consequently Mr. Bumble, +moving his chair by little and little, soon began to diminish the +distance between himself and the matron; and, continuing to travel +round the outer edge of the circle, brought his chair, in time, close +to that in which the matron was seated. + +Indeed, the two chairs touched; and when they did so, Mr. Bumble +stopped. + +Now, if the matron had moved her chair to the right, she would have +been scorched by the fire; and if to the left, she must have fallen +into Mr. Bumble’s arms; so (being a discreet matron, and no doubt +foreseeing these consequences at a glance) she remained where she was, +and handed Mr. Bumble another cup of tea. + +“Hard-hearted, Mrs. Corney?” said Mr. Bumble, stirring his tea, and +looking up into the matron’s face; “are _you_ hard-hearted, Mrs. +Corney?” + +“Dear me!” exclaimed the matron, “what a very curious question from a +single man. What can you want to know for, Mr. Bumble?” + +The beadle drank his tea to the last drop; finished a piece of toast; +whisked the crumbs off his knees; wiped his lips; and deliberately +kissed the matron. + +“Mr. Bumble!” cried that discreet lady in a whisper; for the fright was +so great, that she had quite lost her voice, “Mr. Bumble, I shall +scream!” Mr. Bumble made no reply; but in a slow and dignified manner, +put his arm round the matron’s waist. + +As the lady had stated her intention of screaming, of course she would +have screamed at this additional boldness, but that the exertion was +rendered unnecessary by a hasty knocking at the door: which was no +sooner heard, than Mr. Bumble darted, with much agility, to the wine +bottles, and began dusting them with great violence: while the matron +sharply demanded who was there. + +It is worthy of remark, as a curious physical instance of the efficacy +of a sudden surprise in counteracting the effects of extreme fear, that +her voice had quite recovered all its official asperity. + +“If you please, mistress,” said a withered old female pauper, hideously +ugly: putting her head in at the door, “Old Sally is a-going fast.” + +“Well, what’s that to me?” angrily demanded the matron. “I can’t keep +her alive, can I?” + +“No, no, mistress,” replied the old woman, “nobody can; she’s far +beyond the reach of help. I’ve seen a many people die; little babes and +great strong men; and I know when death’s a-coming, well enough. But +she’s troubled in her mind: and when the fits are not on her,—and +that’s not often, for she is dying very hard,—she says she has got +something to tell, which you must hear. She’ll never die quiet till you +come, mistress.” + +At this intelligence, the worthy Mrs. Corney muttered a variety of +invectives against old women who couldn’t even die without purposely +annoying their betters; and, muffling herself in a thick shawl which +she hastily caught up, briefly requested Mr. Bumble to stay till she +came back, lest anything particular should occur. Bidding the messenger +walk fast, and not be all night hobbling up the stairs, she followed +her from the room with a very ill grace, scolding all the way. + +Mr. Bumble’s conduct on being left to himself, was rather inexplicable. +He opened the closet, counted the teaspoons, weighed the sugar-tongs, +closely inspected a silver milk-pot to ascertain that it was of the +genuine metal, and, having satisfied his curiosity on these points, put +on his cocked hat corner-wise, and danced with much gravity four +distinct times round the table. + +Having gone through this very extraordinary performance, he took off +the cocked hat again, and, spreading himself before the fire with his +back towards it, seemed to be mentally engaged in taking an exact +inventory of the furniture. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIV. +TREATS ON A VERY POOR SUBJECT, BUT IS A SHORT ONE, AND MAY BE FOUND OF +IMPORTANCE IN THIS HISTORY + + +It was no unfit messenger of death, who had disturbed the quiet of the +matron’s room. Her body was bent by age; her limbs trembled with palsy; +her face, distorted into a mumbling leer, resembled more the grotesque +shaping of some wild pencil, than the work of Nature’s hand. + +Alas! How few of Nature’s faces are left alone to gladden us with their +beauty! The cares, and sorrows, and hungerings, of the world, change +them as they change hearts; and it is only when those passions sleep, +and have lost their hold for ever, that the troubled clouds pass off, +and leave Heaven’s surface clear. It is a common thing for the +countenances of the dead, even in that fixed and rigid state, to +subside into the long-forgotten expression of sleeping infancy, and +settle into the very look of early life; so calm, so peaceful, do they +grow again, that those who knew them in their happy childhood, kneel by +the coffin’s side in awe, and see the Angel even upon earth. + +The old crone tottered along the passages, and up the stairs, muttering +some indistinct answers to the chidings of her companion; being at +length compelled to pause for breath, she gave the light into her hand, +and remained behind to follow as she might: while the more nimble +superior made her way to the room where the sick woman lay. + +It was a bare garret-room, with a dim light burning at the farther end. +There was another old woman watching by the bed; the parish +apothecary’s apprentice was standing by the fire, making a toothpick +out of a quill. + +“Cold night, Mrs. Corney,” said this young gentleman, as the matron +entered. + +“Very cold, indeed, sir,” replied the mistress, in her most civil +tones, and dropping a curtsey as she spoke. + +“You should get better coals out of your contractors,” said the +apothecary’s deputy, breaking a lump on the top of the fire with the +rusty poker; “these are not at all the sort of thing for a cold night.” + +“They’re the board’s choosing, sir,” returned the matron. “The least +they could do, would be to keep us pretty warm: for our places are hard +enough.” + +The conversation was here interrupted by a moan from the sick woman. + +“Oh!” said the young man, turning his face towards the bed, as if he +had previously quite forgotten the patient, “it’s all U.P. there, Mrs. +Corney.” + +“It is, is it, sir?” asked the matron. + +“If she lasts a couple of hours, I shall be surprised,” said the +apothecary’s apprentice, intent upon the toothpick’s point. “It’s a +break-up of the system altogether. Is she dozing, old lady?” + +The attendant stooped over the bed, to ascertain; and nodded in the +affirmative. + +“Then perhaps she’ll go off in that way, if you don’t make a row,” said +the young man. “Put the light on the floor. She won’t see it there.” + +The attendant did as she was told: shaking her head meanwhile, to +intimate that the woman would not die so easily; having done so, she +resumed her seat by the side of the other nurse, who had by this time +returned. The mistress, with an expression of impatience, wrapped +herself in her shawl, and sat at the foot of the bed. + +The apothecary’s apprentice, having completed the manufacture of the +toothpick, planted himself in front of the fire and made good use of it +for ten minutes or so: when apparently growing rather dull, he wished +Mrs. Corney joy of her job, and took himself off on tiptoe. + +When they had sat in silence for some time, the two old women rose from +the bed, and crouching over the fire, held out their withered hands to +catch the heat. The flame threw a ghastly light on their shrivelled +faces, and made their ugliness appear terrible, as, in this position, +they began to converse in a low voice. + +“Did she say any more, Anny dear, while I was gone?” inquired the +messenger. + +“Not a word,” replied the other. “She plucked and tore at her arms for +a little time; but I held her hands, and she soon dropped off. She +hasn’t much strength in her, so I easily kept her quiet. I ain’t so +weak for an old woman, although I am on parish allowance; no, no!” + +“Did she drink the hot wine the doctor said she was to have?” demanded +the first. + +“I tried to get it down,” rejoined the other. “But her teeth were tight +set, and she clenched the mug so hard that it was as much as I could do +to get it back again. So _I_ drank it; and it did me good!” + +Looking cautiously round, to ascertain that they were not overheard, +the two hags cowered nearer to the fire, and chuckled heartily. + +“I mind the time,” said the first speaker, “when she would have done +the same, and made rare fun of it afterwards.” + +“Ay, that she would,” rejoined the other; “she had a merry heart. A +many, many, beautiful corpses she laid out, as nice and neat as +waxwork. My old eyes have seen them—ay, and those old hands touched +them too; for I have helped her, scores of times.” + +Stretching forth her trembling fingers as she spoke, the old creature +shook them exultingly before her face, and fumbling in her pocket, +brought out an old time-discoloured tin snuff-box, from which she shook +a few grains into the outstretched palm of her companion, and a few +more into her own. While they were thus employed, the matron, who had +been impatiently watching until the dying woman should awaken from her +stupor, joined them by the fire, and sharply asked how long she was to +wait? + +“Not long, mistress,” replied the second woman, looking up into her +face. “We have none of us long to wait for Death. Patience, patience! +He’ll be here soon enough for us all.” + +“Hold your tongue, you doting idiot!” said the matron sternly. “You, +Martha, tell me; has she been in this way before?” + +“Often,” answered the first woman. + +“But will never be again,” added the second one; “that is, she’ll never +wake again but once—and mind, mistress, that won’t be for long!” + +“Long or short,” said the matron, snappishly, “she won’t find me here +when she does wake; take care, both of you, how you worry me again for +nothing. It’s no part of my duty to see all the old women in the house +die, and I won’t—that’s more. Mind that, you impudent old harridans. If +you make a fool of me again, I’ll soon cure you, I warrant you!” + +She was bouncing away, when a cry from the two women, who had turned +towards the bed, caused her to look round. The patient had raised +herself upright, and was stretching her arms towards them. + +“Who’s that?” she cried, in a hollow voice. + +“Hush, hush!” said one of the women, stooping over her. “Lie down, lie +down!” + +“I’ll never lie down again alive!” said the woman, struggling. “I +_will_ tell her! Come here! Nearer! Let me whisper in your ear.” + +She clutched the matron by the arm, and forcing her into a chair by the +bedside, was about to speak, when looking round, she caught sight of +the two old women bending forward in the attitude of eager listeners. + +“Turn them away,” said the woman, drowsily; “make haste! make haste!” + +The two old crones, chiming in together, began pouring out many piteous +lamentations that the poor dear was too far gone to know her best +friends; and were uttering sundry protestations that they would never +leave her, when the superior pushed them from the room, closed the +door, and returned to the bedside. On being excluded, the old ladies +changed their tone, and cried through the keyhole that old Sally was +drunk; which, indeed, was not unlikely; since, in addition to a +moderate dose of opium prescribed by the apothecary, she was labouring +under the effects of a final taste of gin-and-water which had been +privily administered, in the openness of their hearts, by the worthy +old ladies themselves. + +“Now listen to me,” said the dying woman aloud, as if making a great +effort to revive one latent spark of energy. “In this very room—in this +very bed—I once nursed a pretty young creetur’, that was brought into +the house with her feet cut and bruised with walking, and all soiled +with dust and blood. She gave birth to a boy, and died. Let me +think—what was the year again!” + +“Never mind the year,” said the impatient auditor; “what about her?” + +“Ay,” murmured the sick woman, relapsing into her former drowsy state, +“what about her?—what about—I know!” she cried, jumping fiercely up: +her face flushed, and her eyes starting from her head—“I robbed her, so +I did! She wasn’t cold—I tell you she wasn’t cold, when I stole it!” + +“Stole what, for God’s sake?” cried the matron, with a gesture as if +she would call for help. + +“_It_!” replied the woman, laying her hand over the other’s mouth. “The +only thing she had. She wanted clothes to keep her warm, and food to +eat; but she had kept it safe, and had it in her bosom. It was gold, I +tell you! Rich gold, that might have saved her life!” + +“Gold!” echoed the matron, bending eagerly over the woman as she fell +back. “Go on, go on—yes—what of it? Who was the mother? When was it?” + +“She charged me to keep it safe,” replied the woman with a groan, “and +trusted me as the only woman about her. I stole it in my heart when she +first showed it me hanging round her neck; and the child’s death, +perhaps, is on me besides! They would have treated him better, if they +had known it all!” + +“Known what?” asked the other. “Speak!” + +“The boy grew so like his mother,” said the woman, rambling on, and not +heeding the question, “that I could never forget it when I saw his +face. Poor girl! poor girl! She was so young, too! Such a gentle lamb! +Wait; there’s more to tell. I have not told you all, have I?” + +“No, no,” replied the matron, inclining her head to catch the words, as +they came more faintly from the dying woman. “Be quick, or it may be +too late!” + +“The mother,” said the woman, making a more violent effort than before; +“the mother, when the pains of death first came upon her, whispered in +my ear that if her baby was born alive, and thrived, the day might come +when it would not feel so much disgraced to hear its poor young mother +named. ‘And oh, kind Heaven!’ she said, folding her thin hands +together, ‘whether it be boy or girl, raise up some friends for it in +this troubled world, and take pity upon a lonely desolate child, +abandoned to its mercy!’” + +“The boy’s name?” demanded the matron. + +“They _called_ him Oliver,” replied the woman, feebly. “The gold I +stole was—” + +“Yes, yes—what?” cried the other. + +She was bending eagerly over the woman to hear her reply; but drew +back, instinctively, as she once again rose, slowly and stiffly, into a +sitting posture; then, clutching the coverlid with both hands, muttered +some indistinct sounds in her throat, and fell lifeless on the bed. + + +“Stone dead!” said one of the old women, hurrying in as soon as the +door was opened. + +“And nothing to tell, after all,” rejoined the matron, walking +carelessly away. + +The two crones, to all appearance, too busily occupied in the +preparations for their dreadful duties to make any reply, were left +alone, hovering about the body. + + + + + CHAPTER XXV. +WHEREIN THIS HISTORY REVERTS TO MR. FAGIN AND COMPANY + + +While these things were passing in the country workhouse, Mr. Fagin sat +in the old den—the same from which Oliver had been removed by the +girl—brooding over a dull, smoky fire. He held a pair of bellows upon +his knee, with which he had apparently been endeavouring to rouse it +into more cheerful action; but he had fallen into deep thought; and +with his arms folded on them, and his chin resting on his thumbs, fixed +his eyes, abstractedly, on the rusty bars. + +At a table behind him sat the Artful Dodger, Master Charles Bates, and +Mr. Chitling: all intent upon a game of whist; the Artful taking dummy +against Master Bates and Mr. Chitling. The countenance of the +first-named gentleman, peculiarly intelligent at all times, acquired +great additional interest from his close observance of the game, and +his attentive perusal of Mr. Chitling’s hand; upon which, from time to +time, as occasion served, he bestowed a variety of earnest glances: +wisely regulating his own play by the result of his observations upon +his neighbour’s cards. It being a cold night, the Dodger wore his hat, +as, indeed, was often his custom within doors. He also sustained a clay +pipe between his teeth, which he only removed for a brief space when he +deemed it necessary to apply for refreshment to a quart pot upon the +table, which stood ready filled with gin-and-water for the +accommodation of the company. + +Master Bates was also attentive to the play; but being of a more +excitable nature than his accomplished friend, it was observable that +he more frequently applied himself to the gin-and-water, and moreover +indulged in many jests and irrelevant remarks, all highly unbecoming a +scientific rubber. Indeed, the Artful, presuming upon their close +attachment, more than once took occasion to reason gravely with his +companion upon these improprieties; all of which remonstrances, Master +Bates received in extremely good part; merely requesting his friend to +be “blowed,” or to insert his head in a sack, or replying with some +other neatly-turned witticism of a similar kind, the happy application +of which, excited considerable admiration in the mind of Mr. Chitling. +It was remarkable that the latter gentleman and his partner invariably +lost; and that the circumstance, so far from angering Master Bates, +appeared to afford him the highest amusement, inasmuch as he laughed +most uproariously at the end of every deal, and protested that he had +never seen such a jolly game in all his born days. + +“That’s two doubles and the rub,” said Mr. Chitling, with a very long +face, as he drew half-a-crown from his waistcoat-pocket. “I never see +such a feller as you, Jack; you win everything. Even when we’ve good +cards, Charley and I can’t make nothing of ’em.” + +Either the matter or the manner of this remark, which was made very +ruefully, delighted Charley Bates so much, that his consequent shout of +laughter roused the Jew from his reverie, and induced him to inquire +what was the matter. + +“Matter, Fagin!” cried Charley. “I wish you had watched the play. Tommy +Chitling hasn’t won a point; and I went partners with him against the +Artful and dumb.” + +“Ay, ay!” said the Jew, with a grin, which sufficiently demonstrated +that he was at no loss to understand the reason. “Try ’em again, Tom; +try ’em again.” + +“No more of it for me, thank ’ee, Fagin,” replied Mr. Chitling; “I’ve +had enough. That ’ere Dodger has such a run of luck that there’s no +standing again’ him.” + +“Ha! ha! my dear,” replied the Jew, “you must get up very early in the +morning, to win against the Dodger.” + +“Morning!” said Charley Bates; “you must put your boots on over-night, +and have a telescope at each eye, and a opera-glass between your +shoulders, if you want to come over him.” + +Mr. Dawkins received these handsome compliments with much philosophy, +and offered to cut any gentleman in company, for the first +picture-card, at a shilling at a time. Nobody accepting the challenge, +and his pipe being by this time smoked out, he proceeded to amuse +himself by sketching a ground-plan of Newgate on the table with the +piece of chalk which had served him in lieu of counters; whistling, +meantime, with peculiar shrillness. + +“How precious dull you are, Tommy!” said the Dodger, stopping short +when there had been a long silence; and addressing Mr. Chitling. “What +do you think he’s thinking of, Fagin?” + +“How should I know, my dear?” replied the Jew, looking round as he +plied the bellows. “About his losses, maybe; or the little retirement +in the country that he’s just left, eh? Ha! ha! Is that it, my dear?” + +“Not a bit of it,” replied the Dodger, stopping the subject of +discourse as Mr. Chitling was about to reply. “What do _you_ say, +Charley?” + +“_I_ should say,” replied Master Bates, with a grin, “that he was +uncommon sweet upon Betsy. See how he’s a-blushing! Oh, my eye! here’s +a merry-go-rounder! Tommy Chitling’s in love! Oh, Fagin, Fagin! what a +spree!” + +Thoroughly overpowered with the notion of Mr. Chitling being the victim +of the tender passion, Master Bates threw himself back in his chair +with such violence, that he lost his balance, and pitched over upon the +floor; where (the accident abating nothing of his merriment) he lay at +full length until his laugh was over, when he resumed his former +position, and began another laugh. + +“Never mind him, my dear,” said the Jew, winking at Mr. Dawkins, and +giving Master Bates a reproving tap with the nozzle of the bellows. +“Betsy’s a fine girl. Stick up to her, Tom. Stick up to her.” + +“What I mean to say, Fagin,” replied Mr. Chitling, very red in the +face, “is, that that isn’t anything to anybody here.” + +“No more it is,” replied the Jew; “Charley will talk. Don’t mind him, +my dear; don’t mind him. Betsy’s a fine girl. Do as she bids you, Tom, +and you will make your fortune.” + +“So I _do_ do as she bids me,” replied Mr. Chitling; “I shouldn’t have +been milled, if it hadn’t been for her advice. But it turned out a good +job for you; didn’t it, Fagin! And what’s six weeks of it? It must +come, some time or another, and why not in the winter time when you +don’t want to go out a-walking so much; eh, Fagin?” + +“Ah, to be sure, my dear,” replied the Jew. + +“You wouldn’t mind it again, Tom, would you,” asked the Dodger, winking +upon Charley and the Jew, “if Bet was all right?” + +“I mean to say that I shouldn’t,” replied Tom, angrily. “There, now. +Ah! Who’ll say as much as that, I should like to know; eh, Fagin?” + +“Nobody, my dear,” replied the Jew; “not a soul, Tom. I don’t know one +of ’em that would do it besides you; not one of ’em, my dear.” + +“I might have got clear off, if I’d split upon her; mightn’t I, Fagin?” +angrily pursued the poor half-witted dupe. “A word from me would have +done it; wouldn’t it, Fagin?” + +“To be sure it would, my dear,” replied the Jew. + +“But I didn’t blab it; did I, Fagin?” demanded Tom, pouring question +upon question with great volubility. + +“No, no, to be sure,” replied the Jew; “you were too stout-hearted for +that. A deal too stout, my dear!” + +“Perhaps I was,” rejoined Tom, looking round; “and if I was, what’s to +laugh at, in that; eh, Fagin?” + +The Jew, perceiving that Mr. Chitling was considerably roused, hastened +to assure him that nobody was laughing; and to prove the gravity of the +company, appealed to Master Bates, the principal offender. But, +unfortunately, Charley, in opening his mouth to reply that he was never +more serious in his life, was unable to prevent the escape of such a +violent roar, that the abused Mr. Chitling, without any preliminary +ceremonies, rushed across the room and aimed a blow at the offender; +who, being skilful in evading pursuit, ducked to avoid it, and chose +his time so well that it lighted on the chest of the merry old +gentleman, and caused him to stagger to the wall, where he stood +panting for breath, while Mr. Chitling looked on in intense dismay. + +“Hark!” cried the Dodger at this moment, “I heard the tinkler.” +Catching up the light, he crept softly upstairs. + +The bell was rung again, with some impatience, while the party were in +darkness. After a short pause, the Dodger reappeared, and whispered +Fagin mysteriously. + +“What!” cried the Jew, “alone?” + +The Dodger nodded in the affirmative, and, shading the flame of the +candle with his hand, gave Charley Bates a private intimation, in dumb +show, that he had better not be funny just then. Having performed this +friendly office, he fixed his eyes on the Jew’s face, and awaited his +directions. + +The old man bit his yellow fingers, and meditated for some seconds; his +face working with agitation the while, as if he dreaded something, and +feared to know the worst. At length he raised his head. + +“Where is he?” he asked. + +The Dodger pointed to the floor above, and made a gesture, as if to +leave the room. + +“Yes,” said the Jew, answering the mute inquiry; “bring him down. Hush! +Quiet, Charley! Gently, Tom! Scarce, scarce!” + +This brief direction to Charley Bates, and his recent antagonist, was +softly and immediately obeyed. There was no sound of their whereabout, +when the Dodger descended the stairs, bearing the light in his hand, +and followed by a man in a coarse smock-frock; who, after casting a +hurried glance round the room, pulled off a large wrapper which had +concealed the lower portion of his face, and disclosed: all haggard, +unwashed, and unshorn: the features of flash Toby Crackit. + +“How are you, Faguey?” said this worthy, nodding to the Jew. “Pop that +shawl away in my castor, Dodger, so that I may know where to find it +when I cut; that’s the time of day! You’ll be a fine young cracksman +afore the old file now.” + +With these words he pulled up the smock-frock; and, winding it round +his middle, drew a chair to the fire, and placed his feet upon the hob. + +“See there, Faguey,” he said, pointing disconsolately to his top boots; +“not a drop of Day and Martin since you know when; not a bubble of +blacking, by Jove! But don’t look at me in that way, man. All in good +time. I can’t talk about business till I’ve eat and drank; so produce +the sustainance, and let’s have a quiet fill-out for the first time +these three days!” + +The Jew motioned to the Dodger to place what eatables there were, upon +the table; and, seating himself opposite the housebreaker, waited his +leisure. + +To judge from appearances, Toby was by no means in a hurry to open the +conversation. At first, the Jew contented himself with patiently +watching his countenance, as if to gain from its expression some clue +to the intelligence he brought; but in vain. + +He looked tired and worn, but there was the same complacent repose upon +his features that they always wore: and through dirt, and beard, and +whisker, there still shone, unimpaired, the self-satisfied smirk of +flash Toby Crackit. Then the Jew, in an agony of impatience, watched +every morsel he put into his mouth; pacing up and down the room, +meanwhile, in irrepressible excitement. It was all of no use. Toby +continued to eat with the utmost outward indifference, until he could +eat no more; then, ordering the Dodger out, he closed the door, mixed a +glass of spirits and water, and composed himself for talking. + +“First and foremost, Faguey,” said Toby. + +“Yes, yes!” interposed the Jew, drawing up his chair. + +Mr. Crackit stopped to take a draught of spirits and water, and to +declare that the gin was excellent; then placing his feet against the +low mantelpiece, so as to bring his boots to about the level of his +eye, he quietly resumed. + +“First and foremost, Faguey,” said the housebreaker, “how’s Bill?” + +“What!” screamed the Jew, starting from his seat. + +“Why, you don’t mean to say—” began Toby, turning pale. + +“Mean!” cried the Jew, stamping furiously on the ground. “Where are +they? Sikes and the boy! Where are they? Where have they been? Where +are they hiding? Why have they not been here?” + +“The crack failed,” said Toby faintly. + +“I know it,” replied the Jew, tearing a newspaper from his pocket and +pointing to it. “What more?” + +“They fired and hit the boy. We cut over the fields at the back, with +him between us—straight as the crow flies—through hedge and ditch. They +gave chase. Damme! the whole country was awake, and the dogs upon us.” + +“The boy!” + +“Bill had him on his back, and scudded like the wind. We stopped to +take him between us; his head hung down, and he was cold. They were +close upon our heels; every man for himself, and each from the gallows! +We parted company, and left the youngster lying in a ditch. Alive or +dead, that’s all I know about him.” + +The Jew stopped to hear no more; but uttering a loud yell, and twining +his hands in his hair, rushed from the room, and from the house. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVI. +IN WHICH A MYSTERIOUS CHARACTER APPEARS UPON THE SCENE; AND MANY +THINGS, INSEPARABLE FROM THIS HISTORY, ARE DONE AND PERFORMED + + +The old man had gained the street corner, before he began to recover +the effect of Toby Crackit’s intelligence. He had relaxed nothing of +his unusual speed; but was still pressing onward, in the same wild and +disordered manner, when the sudden dashing past of a carriage: and a +boisterous cry from the foot passengers, who saw his danger: drove him +back upon the pavement. Avoiding, as much as was possible, all the main +streets, and skulking only through the by-ways and alleys, he at length +emerged on Snow Hill. Here he walked even faster than before; nor did +he linger until he had again turned into a court; when, as if conscious +that he was now in his proper element, he fell into his usual shuffling +pace, and seemed to breathe more freely. + +Near to the spot on which Snow Hill and Holborn Hill meet, opens, upon +the right hand as you come out of the City, a narrow and dismal alley, +leading to Saffron Hill. In its filthy shops are exposed for sale huge +bunches of second-hand silk handkerchiefs, of all sizes and patterns; +for here reside the traders who purchase them from pick-pockets. +Hundreds of these handkerchiefs hang dangling from pegs outside the +windows or flaunting from the door-posts; and the shelves, within, are +piled with them. Confined as the limits of Field Lane are, it has its +barber, its coffee-shop, its beer-shop, and its fried-fish warehouse. +It is a commercial colony of itself: the emporium of petty larceny: +visited at early morning, and setting-in of dusk, by silent merchants, +who traffic in dark back-parlours, and who go as strangely as they +come. Here, the clothesman, the shoe-vamper, and the rag-merchant, +display their goods, as sign-boards to the petty thief; here, stores of +old iron and bones, and heaps of mildewy fragments of woollen-stuff and +linen, rust and rot in the grimy cellars. + +It was into this place that the Jew turned. He was well known to the +sallow denizens of the lane; for such of them as were on the look-out +to buy or sell, nodded, familiarly, as he passed along. He replied to +their salutations in the same way; but bestowed no closer recognition +until he reached the further end of the alley; when he stopped, to +address a salesman of small stature, who had squeezed as much of his +person into a child’s chair as the chair would hold, and was smoking a +pipe at his warehouse door. + +“Why, the sight of you, Mr. Fagin, would cure the hoptalmy!” said this +respectable trader, in acknowledgment of the Jew’s inquiry after his +health. + +“The neighbourhood was a little too hot, Lively,” said Fagin, elevating +his eyebrows, and crossing his hands upon his shoulders. + +“Well, I’ve heerd that complaint of it, once or twice before,” replied +the trader; “but it soon cools down again; don’t you find it so?” + +Fagin nodded in the affirmative. Pointing in the direction of Saffron +Hill, he inquired whether any one was up yonder tonight. + +“At the Cripples?” inquired the man. + +The Jew nodded. + +“Let me see,” pursued the merchant, reflecting. “Yes, there’s some +half-dozen of ’em gone in, that I knows. I don’t think your friend’s +there.” + +“Sikes is not, I suppose?” inquired the Jew, with a disappointed +countenance. + +“_Non istwentus_, as the lawyers say,” replied the little man, shaking +his head, and looking amazingly sly. “Have you got anything in my line +tonight?” + +“Nothing tonight,” said the Jew, turning away. + +“Are you going up to the Cripples, Fagin?” cried the little man, +calling after him. “Stop! I don’t mind if I have a drop there with +you!” + +But as the Jew, looking back, waved his hand to intimate that he +preferred being alone; and, moreover, as the little man could not very +easily disengage himself from the chair; the sign of the Cripples was, +for a time, bereft of the advantage of Mr. Lively’s presence. By the +time he had got upon his legs, the Jew had disappeared; so Mr. Lively, +after ineffectually standing on tiptoe, in the hope of catching sight +of him, again forced himself into the little chair, and, exchanging a +shake of the head with a lady in the opposite shop, in which doubt and +mistrust were plainly mingled, resumed his pipe with a grave demeanour. + +The Three Cripples, or rather the Cripples; which was the sign by which +the establishment was familiarly known to its patrons: was the +public-house in which Mr. Sikes and his dog have already figured. +Merely making a sign to a man at the bar, Fagin walked straight +upstairs, and opening the door of a room, and softly insinuating +himself into the chamber, looked anxiously about: shading his eyes with +his hand, as if in search of some particular person. + +The room was illuminated by two gas-lights; the glare of which was +prevented by the barred shutters, and closely-drawn curtains of faded +red, from being visible outside. The ceiling was blackened, to prevent +its colour from being injured by the flaring of the lamps; and the +place was so full of dense tobacco smoke, that at first it was scarcely +possible to discern anything more. By degrees, however, as some of it +cleared away through the open door, an assemblage of heads, as confused +as the noises that greeted the ear, might be made out; and as the eye +grew more accustomed to the scene, the spectator gradually became aware +of the presence of a numerous company, male and female, crowded round a +long table: at the upper end of which, sat a chairman with a hammer of +office in his hand; while a professional gentleman with a bluish nose, +and his face tied up for the benefit of a toothache, presided at a +jingling piano in a remote corner. + +As Fagin stepped softly in, the professional gentleman, running over +the keys by way of prelude, occasioned a general cry of order for a +song; which having subsided, a young lady proceeded to entertain the +company with a ballad in four verses, between each of which the +accompanyist played the melody all through, as loud as he could. When +this was over, the chairman gave a sentiment, after which, the +professional gentleman on the chairman’s right and left volunteered a +duet, and sang it, with great applause. + +It was curious to observe some faces which stood out prominently from +among the group. There was the chairman himself, (the landlord of the +house,) a coarse, rough, heavy built fellow, who, while the songs were +proceeding, rolled his eyes hither and thither, and, seeming to give +himself up to joviality, had an eye for everything that was done, and +an ear for everything that was said—and sharp ones, too. Near him were +the singers: receiving, with professional indifference, the compliments +of the company, and applying themselves, in turn, to a dozen proffered +glasses of spirits and water, tendered by their more boisterous +admirers; whose countenances, expressive of almost every vice in almost +every grade, irresistibly attracted the attention, by their very +repulsiveness. Cunning, ferocity, and drunkeness in all its stages, +were there, in their strongest aspect; and women: some with the last +lingering tinge of their early freshness almost fading as you looked: +others with every mark and stamp of their sex utterly beaten out, and +presenting but one loathsome blank of profligacy and crime; some mere +girls, others but young women, and none past the prime of life; formed +the darkest and saddest portion of this dreary picture. + +Fagin, troubled by no grave emotions, looked eagerly from face to face +while these proceedings were in progress; but apparently without +meeting that of which he was in search. Succeeding, at length, in +catching the eye of the man who occupied the chair, he beckoned to him +slightly, and left the room, as quietly as he had entered it. + +“What can I do for you, Mr. Fagin?” inquired the man, as he followed +him out to the landing. “Won’t you join us? They’ll be delighted, every +one of ’em.” + +The Jew shook his head impatiently, and said in a whisper, “Is _he_ +here?” + +“No,” replied the man. + +“And no news of Barney?” inquired Fagin. + +“None,” replied the landlord of the Cripples; for it was he. “He won’t +stir till it’s all safe. Depend on it, they’re on the scent down there; +and that if he moved, he’d blow upon the thing at once. He’s all right +enough, Barney is, else I should have heard of him. I’ll pound it, that +Barney’s managing properly. Let him alone for that.” + +“Will _he_ be here tonight?” asked the Jew, laying the same emphasis +on the pronoun as before. + +“Monks, do you mean?” inquired the landlord, hesitating. + +“Hush!” said the Jew. “Yes.” + +“Certain,” replied the man, drawing a gold watch from his fob; “I +expected him here before now. If you’ll wait ten minutes, he’ll be—” + +“No, no,” said the Jew, hastily; as though, however desirous he might +be to see the person in question, he was nevertheless relieved by his +absence. “Tell him I came here to see him; and that he must come to me +tonight. No, say tomorrow. As he is not here, tomorrow will be time +enough.” + +“Good!” said the man. “Nothing more?” + +“Not a word now,” said the Jew, descending the stairs. + +“I say,” said the other, looking over the rails, and speaking in a +hoarse whisper; “what a time this would be for a sell! I’ve got Phil +Barker here: so drunk, that a boy might take him!” + +“Ah! But it’s not Phil Barker’s time,” said the Jew, looking up. “Phil +has something more to do, before we can afford to part with him; so go +back to the company, my dear, and tell them to lead merry lives—_while +they last_. Ha! ha! ha!” + +The landlord reciprocated the old man’s laugh; and returned to his +guests. The Jew was no sooner alone, than his countenance resumed its +former expression of anxiety and thought. After a brief reflection, he +called a hack-cabriolet, and bade the man drive towards Bethnal Green. +He dismissed him within some quarter of a mile of Mr. Sikes’s +residence, and performed the short remainder of the distance on foot. + +“Now,” muttered the Jew, as he knocked at the door, “if there is any +deep play here, I shall have it out of you, my girl, cunning as you +are.” + +She was in her room, the woman said. Fagin crept softly upstairs, and +entered it without any previous ceremony. The girl was alone; lying +with her head upon the table, and her hair straggling over it. + +“She has been drinking,” thought the Jew, cooly, “or perhaps she is +only miserable.” + +The old man turned to close the door, as he made this reflection; the +noise thus occasioned, roused the girl. She eyed his crafty face +narrowly, as she inquired to his recital of Toby Crackit’s story. When +it was concluded, she sank into her former attitude, but spoke not a +word. She pushed the candle impatiently away; and once or twice as she +feverishly changed her position, shuffled her feet upon the ground; but +this was all. + +During the silence, the Jew looked restlessly about the room, as if to +assure himself that there were no appearances of Sikes having covertly +returned. Apparently satisfied with his inspection, he coughed twice or +thrice, and made as many efforts to open a conversation; but the girl +heeded him no more than if he had been made of stone. At length he made +another attempt; and rubbing his hands together, said, in his most +conciliatory tone, + +“And where should you think Bill was now, my dear?” + +The girl moaned out some half intelligible reply, that she could not +tell; and seemed, from the smothered noise that escaped her, to be +crying. + +“And the boy, too,” said the Jew, straining his eyes to catch a glimpse +of her face. “Poor leetle child! Left in a ditch, Nance; only think!” + +“The child,” said the girl, suddenly looking up, “is better where he +is, than among us; and if no harm comes to Bill from it, I hope he lies +dead in the ditch and that his young bones may rot there.” + +“What!” cried the Jew, in amazement. + +“Ay, I do,” returned the girl, meeting his gaze. “I shall be glad to +have him away from my eyes, and to know that the worst is over. I can’t +bear to have him about me. The sight of him turns me against myself, +and all of you.” + +“Pooh!” said the Jew, scornfully. “You’re drunk.” + +“Am I?” cried the girl bitterly. “It’s no fault of yours, if I am not! +You’d never have me anything else, if you had your will, except +now;—the humour doesn’t suit you, doesn’t it?” + +“No!” rejoined the Jew, furiously. “It does not.” + +“Change it, then!” responded the girl, with a laugh. + +“Change it!” exclaimed the Jew, exasperated beyond all bounds by his +companion’s unexpected obstinacy, and the vexation of the night, “I +_will_ change it! Listen to me, you drab. Listen to me, who with six +words, can strangle Sikes as surely as if I had his bull’s throat +between my fingers now. If he comes back, and leaves the boy behind +him; if he gets off free, and dead or alive, fails to restore him to +me; murder him yourself if you would have him escape Jack Ketch. And do +it the moment he sets foot in this room, or mind me, it will be too +late!” + +“What is all this?” cried the girl involuntarily. + +“What is it?” pursued Fagin, mad with rage. “When the boy’s worth +hundreds of pounds to me, am I to lose what chance threw me in the way +of getting safely, through the whims of a drunken gang that I could +whistle away the lives of! And me bound, too, to a born devil that only +wants the will, and has the power to, to—” + +Panting for breath, the old man stammered for a word; and in that +instant checked the torrent of his wrath, and changed his whole +demeanour. A moment before, his clenched hands had grasped the air; his +eyes had dilated; and his face grown livid with passion; but now, he +shrunk into a chair, and, cowering together, trembled with the +apprehension of having himself disclosed some hidden villainy. After a +short silence, he ventured to look round at his companion. He appeared +somewhat reassured, on beholding her in the same listless attitude from +which he had first roused her. + +“Nancy, dear!” croaked the Jew, in his usual voice. “Did you mind me, +dear?” + +“Don’t worry me now, Fagin!” replied the girl, raising her head +languidly. “If Bill has not done it this time, he will another. He has +done many a good job for you, and will do many more when he can; and +when he can’t he won’t; so no more about that.” + +“Regarding this boy, my dear?” said the Jew, rubbing the palms of his +hands nervously together. + +“The boy must take his chance with the rest,” interrupted Nancy, +hastily; “and I say again, I hope he is dead, and out of harm’s way, +and out of yours,—that is, if Bill comes to no harm. And if Toby got +clear off, Bill’s pretty sure to be safe; for Bill’s worth two of Toby +any time.” + +“And about what I was saying, my dear?” observed the Jew, keeping his +glistening eye steadily upon her. + +“You must say it all over again, if it’s anything you want me to do,” +rejoined Nancy; “and if it is, you had better wait till tomorrow. You +put me up for a minute; but now I’m stupid again.” + +Fagin put several other questions: all with the same drift of +ascertaining whether the girl had profited by his unguarded hints; but, +she answered them so readily, and was withal so utterly unmoved by his +searching looks, that his original impression of her being more than a +trifle in liquor, was confirmed. Nancy, indeed, was not exempt from a +failing which was very common among the Jew’s female pupils; and in +which, in their tenderer years, they were rather encouraged than +checked. Her disordered appearance, and a wholesale perfume of Geneva +which pervaded the apartment, afforded strong confirmatory evidence of +the justice of the Jew’s supposition; and when, after indulging in the +temporary display of violence above described, she subsided, first into +dullness, and afterwards into a compound of feelings: under the +influence of which she shed tears one minute, and in the next gave +utterance to various exclamations of “Never say die!” and divers +calculations as to what might be the amount of the odds so long as a +lady or gentleman was happy, Mr. Fagin, who had had considerable +experience of such matters in his time, saw, with great satisfaction, +that she was very far gone indeed. + +Having eased his mind by this discovery; and having accomplished his +twofold object of imparting to the girl what he had, that night, heard, +and of ascertaining, with his own eyes, that Sikes had not returned, +Mr. Fagin again turned his face homeward: leaving his young friend +asleep, with her head upon the table. + +It was within an hour of midnight. The weather being dark, and piercing +cold, he had no great temptation to loiter. The sharp wind that scoured +the streets, seemed to have cleared them of passengers, as of dust and +mud, for few people were abroad, and they were to all appearance +hastening fast home. It blew from the right quarter for the Jew, +however, and straight before it he went: trembling, and shivering, as +every fresh gust drove him rudely on his way. + +He had reached the corner of his own street, and was already fumbling +in his pocket for the door-key, when a dark figure emerged from a +projecting entrance which lay in deep shadow, and, crossing the road, +glided up to him unperceived. + +“Fagin!” whispered a voice close to his ear. + +“Ah!” said the Jew, turning quickly round, “is that—” + +“Yes!” interrupted the stranger. “I have been lingering here these two +hours. Where the devil have you been?” + +“On your business, my dear,” replied the Jew, glancing uneasily at his +companion, and slackening his pace as he spoke. “On your business all +night.” + +“Oh, of course!” said the stranger, with a sneer. “Well; and what’s +come of it?” + +“Nothing good,” said the Jew. + +“Nothing bad, I hope?” said the stranger, stopping short, and turning a +startled look on his companion. + +The Jew shook his head, and was about to reply, when the stranger, +interrupting him, motioned to the house, before which they had by this +time arrived: remarking, that he had better say what he had got to say, +under cover: for his blood was chilled with standing about so long, and +the wind blew through him. + +Fagin looked as if he could have willingly excused himself from taking +home a visitor at that unseasonable hour; and, indeed, muttered +something about having no fire; but his companion repeating his request +in a peremptory manner, he unlocked the door, and requested him to +close it softly, while he got a light. + +“It’s as dark as the grave,” said the man, groping forward a few steps. +“Make haste!” + +“Shut the door,” whispered Fagin from the end of the passage. As he +spoke, it closed with a loud noise. + +“That wasn’t my doing,” said the other man, feeling his way. “The wind +blew it to, or it shut of its own accord: one or the other. Look sharp +with the light, or I shall knock my brains out against something in +this confounded hole.” + +Fagin stealthily descended the kitchen stairs. After a short absence, +he returned with a lighted candle, and the intelligence that Toby +Crackit was asleep in the back room below, and that the boys were in +the front one. Beckoning the man to follow him, he led the way +upstairs. + +“We can say the few words we’ve got to say in here, my dear,” said the +Jew, throwing open a door on the first floor; “and as there are holes +in the shutters, and we never show lights to our neighbours, we’ll set +the candle on the stairs. There!” + +With those words, the Jew, stooping down, placed the candle on an upper +flight of stairs, exactly opposite to the room door. This done, he led +the way into the apartment; which was destitute of all movables save a +broken arm-chair, and an old couch or sofa without covering, which +stood behind the door. Upon this piece of furniture, the stranger sat +himself with the air of a weary man; and the Jew, drawing up the +arm-chair opposite, they sat face to face. It was not quite dark; the +door was partially open; and the candle outside, threw a feeble +reflection on the opposite wall. + +They conversed for some time in whispers. Though nothing of the +conversation was distinguishable beyond a few disjointed words here and +there, a listener might easily have perceived that Fagin appeared to be +defending himself against some remarks of the stranger; and that the +latter was in a state of considerable irritation. They might have been +talking, thus, for a quarter of an hour or more, when Monks—by which +name the Jew had designated the strange man several times in the course +of their colloquy—said, raising his voice a little, + +“I tell you again, it was badly planned. Why not have kept him here +among the rest, and made a sneaking, snivelling pickpocket of him at +once?” + +“Only hear him!” exclaimed the Jew, shrugging his shoulders. + +“Why, do you mean to say you couldn’t have done it, if you had chosen?” +demanded Monks, sternly. “Haven’t you done it, with other boys, scores +of times? If you had had patience for a twelvemonth, at most, couldn’t +you have got him convicted, and sent safely out of the kingdom; perhaps +for life?” + +“Whose turn would that have served, my dear?” inquired the Jew humbly. + +“Mine,” replied Monks. + +“But not mine,” said the Jew, submissively. “He might have become of +use to me. When there are two parties to a bargain, it is only +reasonable that the interests of both should be consulted; is it, my +good friend?” + +“What then?” demanded Monks. + +“I saw it was not easy to train him to the business,” replied the Jew; +“he was not like other boys in the same circumstances.” + +“Curse him, no!” muttered the man, “or he would have been a thief, long +ago.” + +“I had no hold upon him to make him worse,” pursued the Jew, anxiously +watching the countenance of his companion. “His hand was not in. I had +nothing to frighten him with; which we always must have in the +beginning, or we labour in vain. What could I do? Send him out with the +Dodger and Charley? We had enough of that, at first, my dear; I +trembled for us all.” + +“_That_ was not my doing,” observed Monks. + +“No, no, my dear!” renewed the Jew. “And I don’t quarrel with it now; +because, if it had never happened, you might never have clapped eyes on +the boy to notice him, and so led to the discovery that it was him you +were looking for. Well! I got him back for you by means of the girl; +and then _she_ begins to favour him.” + +“Throttle the girl!” said Monks, impatiently. + +“Why, we can’t afford to do that just now, my dear,” replied the Jew, +smiling; “and, besides, that sort of thing is not in our way; or, one +of these days, I might be glad to have it done. I know what these girls +are, Monks, well. As soon as the boy begins to harden, she’ll care no +more for him, than for a block of wood. You want him made a thief. If +he is alive, I can make him one from this time; and, if—if—” said the +Jew, drawing nearer to the other,—“it’s not likely, mind,—but if the +worst comes to the worst, and he is dead—” + +“It’s no fault of mine if he is!” interposed the other man, with a look +of terror, and clasping the Jew’s arm with trembling hands. “Mind that. +Fagin! I had no hand in it. Anything but his death, I told you from the +first. I won’t shed blood; it’s always found out, and haunts a man +besides. If they shot him dead, I was not the cause; do you hear me? +Fire this infernal den! What’s that?” + +“What!” cried the Jew, grasping the coward round the body, with both +arms, as he sprung to his feet. “Where?” + +“Yonder!” replied the man, glaring at the opposite wall. “The shadow! I +saw the shadow of a woman, in a cloak and bonnet, pass along the +wainscot like a breath!” + +The Jew released his hold, and they rushed tumultuously from the room. +The candle, wasted by the draught, was standing where it had been +placed. It showed them only the empty staircase, and their own white +faces. They listened intently: a profound silence reigned throughout +the house. + +“It’s your fancy,” said the Jew, taking up the light and turning to his +companion. + +“I’ll swear I saw it!” replied Monks, trembling. “It was bending +forward when I saw it first; and when I spoke, it darted away.” + +The Jew glanced contemptuously at the pale face of his associate, and, +telling him he could follow, if he pleased, ascended the stairs. They +looked into all the rooms; they were cold, bare, and empty. They +descended into the passage, and thence into the cellars below. The +green damp hung upon the low walls; the tracks of the snail and slug +glistened in the light of the candle; but all was still as death. + +“What do you think now?” said the Jew, when they had regained the +passage. “Besides ourselves, there’s not a creature in the house except +Toby and the boys; and they’re safe enough. See here!” + +As a proof of the fact, the Jew drew forth two keys from his pocket; +and explained, that when he first went downstairs, he had locked them +in, to prevent any intrusion on the conference. + +This accumulated testimony effectually staggered Mr. Monks. His +protestations had gradually become less and less vehement as they +proceeded in their search without making any discovery; and, now, he +gave vent to several very grim laughs, and confessed it could only have +been his excited imagination. He declined any renewal of the +conversation, however, for that night: suddenly remembering that it was +past one o’clock. And so the amiable couple parted. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVII. +ATONES FOR THE UNPOLITENESS OF A FORMER CHAPTER; WHICH DESERTED A LADY, +MOST UNCEREMONIOUSLY + + +As it would be, by no means, seemly in a humble author to keep so +mighty a personage as a beadle waiting, with his back to the fire, and +the skirts of his coat gathered up under his arms, until such time as +it might suit his pleasure to relieve him; and as it would still less +become his station, or his gallantry to involve in the same neglect a +lady on whom that beadle had looked with an eye of tenderness and +affection, and in whose ear he had whispered sweet words, which, coming +from such a quarter, might well thrill the bosom of maid or matron of +whatsoever degree; the historian whose pen traces these words—trusting +that he knows his place, and that he entertains a becoming reverence +for those upon earth to whom high and important authority is +delegated—hastens to pay them that respect which their position +demands, and to treat them with all that duteous ceremony which their +exalted rank, and (by consequence) great virtues, imperatively claim at +his hands. Towards this end, indeed, he had purposed to introduce, in +this place, a dissertation touching the divine right of beadles, and +elucidative of the position, that a beadle can do no wrong: which could +not fail to have been both pleasurable and profitable to the +right-minded reader but which he is unfortunately compelled, by want of +time and space, to postpone to some more convenient and fitting +opportunity; on the arrival of which, he will be prepared to show, that +a beadle properly constituted: that is to say, a parochial beadle, +attached to a parochial workhouse, and attending in his official +capacity the parochial church: is, in right and virtue of his office, +possessed of all the excellences and best qualities of humanity; and +that to none of those excellences, can mere companies’ beadles, or +court-of-law beadles, or even chapel-of-ease beadles (save the last, +and they in a very lowly and inferior degree), lay the remotest +sustainable claim. + +Mr. Bumble had re-counted the teaspoons, re-weighed the sugar-tongs, +made a closer inspection of the milk-pot, and ascertained to a nicety +the exact condition of the furniture, down to the very horse-hair seats +of the chairs; and had repeated each process full half a dozen times; +before he began to think that it was time for Mrs. Corney to return. +Thinking begets thinking; as there were no sounds of Mrs. Corney’s +approach, it occured to Mr. Bumble that it would be an innocent and +virtuous way of spending the time, if he were further to allay his +curiousity by a cursory glance at the interior of Mrs. Corney’s chest +of drawers. + +Having listened at the keyhole, to assure himself that nobody was +approaching the chamber, Mr. Bumble, beginning at the bottom, proceeded +to make himself acquainted with the contents of the three long drawers: +which, being filled with various garments of good fashion and texture, +carefully preserved between two layers of old newspapers, speckled with +dried lavender: seemed to yield him exceeding satisfaction. Arriving, +in course of time, at the right-hand corner drawer (in which was the +key), and beholding therein a small padlocked box, which, being shaken, +gave forth a pleasant sound, as of the chinking of coin, Mr. Bumble +returned with a stately walk to the fireplace; and, resuming his old +attitude, said, with a grave and determined air, “I’ll do it!” He +followed up this remarkable declaration, by shaking his head in a +waggish manner for ten minutes, as though he were remonstrating with +himself for being such a pleasant dog; and then, he took a view of his +legs in profile, with much seeming pleasure and interest. + +He was still placidly engaged in this latter survey, when Mrs. Corney, +hurrying into the room, threw herself, in a breathless state, on a +chair by the fireside, and covering her eyes with one hand, placed the +other over her heart, and gasped for breath. + +“Mrs. Corney,” said Mr. Bumble, stooping over the matron, “what is +this, ma’am? Has anything happened, ma’am? Pray answer me: I’m on—on—” +Mr. Bumble, in his alarm, could not immediately think of the word +“tenterhooks,” so he said “broken bottles.” + +“Oh, Mr. Bumble!” cried the lady, “I have been so dreadfully put out!” + +“Put out, ma’am!” exclaimed Mr. Bumble; “who has dared to—? I know!” +said Mr. Bumble, checking himself, with native majesty, “this is them +wicious paupers!” + +“It’s dreadful to think of!” said the lady, shuddering. + +“Then _don’t_ think of it, ma’am,” rejoined Mr. Bumble. + +“I can’t help it,” whimpered the lady. + +“Then take something, ma’am,” said Mr. Bumble soothingly. “A little of +the wine?” + +“Not for the world!” replied Mrs. Corney. “I couldn’t,—oh! The top +shelf in the right-hand corner—oh!” Uttering these words, the good lady +pointed, distractedly, to the cupboard, and underwent a convulsion from +internal spasms. Mr. Bumble rushed to the closet; and, snatching a pint +green-glass bottle from the shelf thus incoherently indicated, filled a +tea-cup with its contents, and held it to the lady’s lips. + +“I’m better now,” said Mrs. Corney, falling back, after drinking half +of it. + +Mr. Bumble raised his eyes piously to the ceiling in thankfulness; and, +bringing them down again to the brim of the cup, lifted it to his nose. + +“Peppermint,” exclaimed Mrs. Corney, in a faint voice, smiling gently +on the beadle as she spoke. “Try it! There’s a little—a little +something else in it.” + +Mr. Bumble tasted the medicine with a doubtful look; smacked his lips; +took another taste; and put the cup down empty. + +“It’s very comforting,” said Mrs. Corney. + +“Very much so indeed, ma’am,” said the beadle. As he spoke, he drew a +chair beside the matron, and tenderly inquired what had happened to +distress her. + +“Nothing,” replied Mrs. Corney. “I am a foolish, excitable, weak +creetur.” + +“Not weak, ma’am,” retorted Mr. Bumble, drawing his chair a little +closer. “Are you a weak creetur, Mrs. Corney?” + +“We are all weak creeturs,” said Mrs. Corney, laying down a general +principle. + +“So we are,” said the beadle. + +Nothing was said on either side, for a minute or two afterwards. By the +expiration of that time, Mr. Bumble had illustrated the position by +removing his left arm from the back of Mrs. Corney’s chair, where it +had previously rested, to Mrs. Corney’s apron-string, round which it +gradually became entwined. + +“We are all weak creeturs,” said Mr. Bumble. + +Mrs. Corney sighed. + +“Don’t sigh, Mrs. Corney,” said Mr. Bumble. + +“I can’t help it,” said Mrs. Corney. And she sighed again. + +“This is a very comfortable room, ma’am,” said Mr. Bumble looking +round. “Another room, and this, ma’am, would be a complete thing.” + +“It would be too much for one,” murmured the lady. + +“But not for two, ma’am,” rejoined Mr. Bumble, in soft accents. “Eh, +Mrs. Corney?” + +Mrs. Corney drooped her head, when the beadle said this; the beadle +drooped his, to get a view of Mrs. Corney’s face. Mrs. Corney, with +great propriety, turned her head away, and released her hand to get at +her pocket-handkerchief; but insensibly replaced it in that of Mr. +Bumble. + +“The board allows you coals, don’t they, Mrs. Corney?” inquired the +beadle, affectionately pressing her hand. + +“And candles,” replied Mrs. Corney, slightly returning the pressure. + +“Coals, candles, and house-rent free,” said Mr. Bumble. “Oh, Mrs. +Corney, what an Angel you are!” + +The lady was not proof against this burst of feeling. She sank into Mr. +Bumble’s arms; and that gentleman in his agitation, imprinted a +passionate kiss upon her chaste nose. + +“Such porochial perfection!” exclaimed Mr. Bumble, rapturously. “You +know that Mr. Slout is worse tonight, my fascinator?” + +“Yes,” replied Mrs. Corney, bashfully. + +“He can’t live a week, the doctor says,” pursued Mr. Bumble. “He is the +master of this establishment; his death will cause a wacancy; that +wacancy must be filled up. Oh, Mrs. Corney, what a prospect this opens! +What a opportunity for a jining of hearts and housekeepings!” + +Mrs. Corney sobbed. + +“The little word?” said Mr. Bumble, bending over the bashful beauty. +“The one little, little, little word, my blessed Corney?” + +“Ye—ye—yes!” sighed out the matron. + +“One more,” pursued the beadle; “compose your darling feelings for only +one more. When is it to come off?” + +Mrs. Corney twice essayed to speak: and twice failed. At length +summoning up courage, she threw her arms around Mr. Bumble’s neck, and +said, it might be as soon as ever he pleased, and that he was “a +irresistible duck.” + +Matters being thus amicably and satisfactorily arranged, the contract +was solemnly ratified in another teacupful of the peppermint mixture; +which was rendered the more necessary, by the flutter and agitation of +the lady’s spirits. While it was being disposed of, she acquainted Mr. +Bumble with the old woman’s decease. + +“Very good,” said that gentleman, sipping his peppermint; “I’ll call at +Sowerberry’s as I go home, and tell him to send tomorrow morning. Was +it that as frightened you, love?” + +“It wasn’t anything particular, dear,” said the lady evasively. + +“It must have been something, love,” urged Mr. Bumble. “Won’t you tell +your own B.?” + +“Not now,” rejoined the lady; “one of these days. After we’re married, +dear.” + +“After we’re married!” exclaimed Mr. Bumble. “It wasn’t any impudence +from any of them male paupers as—” + +“No, no, love!” interposed the lady, hastily. + +“If I thought it was,” continued Mr. Bumble; “if I thought as any one +of ’em had dared to lift his wulgar eyes to that lovely countenance—” + +“They wouldn’t have dared to do it, love,” responded the lady. + +“They had better not!” said Mr. Bumble, clenching his fist. “Let me see +any man, porochial or extra-porochial, as would presume to do it; and I +can tell him that he wouldn’t do it a second time!” + +Unembellished by any violence of gesticulation, this might have seemed +no very high compliment to the lady’s charms; but, as Mr. Bumble +accompanied the threat with many warlike gestures, she was much touched +with this proof of his devotion, and protested, with great admiration, +that he was indeed a dove. + +The dove then turned up his coat-collar, and put on his cocked hat; +and, having exchanged a long and affectionate embrace with his future +partner, once again braved the cold wind of the night: merely pausing, +for a few minutes, in the male paupers’ ward, to abuse them a little, +with the view of satisfying himself that he could fill the office of +workhouse-master with needful acerbity. Assured of his qualifications, +Mr. Bumble left the building with a light heart, and bright visions of +his future promotion: which served to occupy his mind until he reached +the shop of the undertaker. + +Now, Mr. and Mrs. Sowerberry having gone out to tea and supper: and +Noah Claypole not being at any time disposed to take upon himself a +greater amount of physical exertion than is necessary to a convenient +performance of the two functions of eating and drinking, the shop was +not closed, although it was past the usual hour of shutting-up. Mr. +Bumble tapped with his cane on the counter several times; but, +attracting no attention, and beholding a light shining through the +glass-window of the little parlour at the back of the shop, he made +bold to peep in and see what was going forward; and when he saw what +was going forward, he was not a little surprised. + +The cloth was laid for supper; the table was covered with bread and +butter, plates and glasses; a porter-pot and a wine-bottle. At the +upper end of the table, Mr. Noah Claypole lolled negligently in an +easy-chair, with his legs thrown over one of the arms: an open +clasp-knife in one hand, and a mass of buttered bread in the other. +Close beside him stood Charlotte, opening oysters from a barrel: which +Mr. Claypole condescended to swallow, with remarkable avidity. A more +than ordinary redness in the region of the young gentleman’s nose, and +a kind of fixed wink in his right eye, denoted that he was in a slight +degree intoxicated; these symptoms were confirmed by the intense relish +with which he took his oysters, for which nothing but a strong +appreciation of their cooling properties, in cases of internal fever, +could have sufficiently accounted. + +“Here’s a delicious fat one, Noah, dear!” said Charlotte; “try him, do; +only this one.” + +“What a delicious thing is a oyster!” remarked Mr. Claypole, after he +had swallowed it. “What a pity it is, a number of ’em should ever make +you feel uncomfortable; isn’t it, Charlotte?” + +“It’s quite a cruelty,” said Charlotte. + +“So it is,” acquiesced Mr. Claypole. “An’t yer fond of oysters?” + +“Not overmuch,” replied Charlotte. “I like to see you eat ’em, Noah +dear, better than eating ’em myself.” + +“Lor!” said Noah, reflectively; “how queer!” + +“Have another,” said Charlotte. “Here’s one with such a beautiful, +delicate beard!” + +“I can’t manage any more,” said Noah. “I’m very sorry. Come here, +Charlotte, and I’ll kiss yer.” + +“What!” said Mr. Bumble, bursting into the room. “Say that again, sir.” + +Charlotte uttered a scream, and hid her face in her apron. Mr. +Claypole, without making any further change in his position than +suffering his legs to reach the ground, gazed at the beadle in drunken +terror. + +“Say it again, you wile, owdacious fellow!” said Mr. Bumble. “How dare +you mention such a thing, sir? And how dare you encourage him, you +insolent minx? Kiss her!” exclaimed Mr. Bumble, in strong indignation. +“Faugh!” + +“I didn’t mean to do it!” said Noah, blubbering. “She’s always +a-kissing of me, whether I like it, or not.” + +“Oh, Noah,” cried Charlotte, reproachfully. + +“Yer are; yer know yer are!” retorted Noah. “She’s always a-doin’ of +it, Mr. Bumble, sir; she chucks me under the chin, please, sir; and +makes all manner of love!” + +“Silence!” cried Mr. Bumble, sternly. “Take yourself downstairs, ma’am. +Noah, you shut up the shop; say another word till your master comes +home, at your peril; and, when he does come home, tell him that Mr. +Bumble said he was to send a old woman’s shell after breakfast +tomorrow morning. Do you hear sir? Kissing!” cried Mr. Bumble, holding +up his hands. “The sin and wickedness of the lower orders in this +porochial district is frightful! If Parliament don’t take their +abominable courses under consideration, this country’s ruined, and the +character of the peasantry gone for ever!” With these words, the beadle +strode, with a lofty and gloomy air, from the undertaker’s premises. + +And now that we have accompanied him so far on his road home, and have +made all necessary preparations for the old woman’s funeral, let us set +on foot a few inquires after young Oliver Twist, and ascertain whether +he be still lying in the ditch where Toby Crackit left him. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVIII. +LOOKS AFTER OLIVER, AND PROCEEDS WITH HIS ADVENTURES + + +“Wolves tear your throats!” muttered Sikes, grinding his teeth. “I wish +I was among some of you; you’d howl the hoarser for it.” + +As Sikes growled forth this imprecation, with the most desperate +ferocity that his desperate nature was capable of, he rested the body +of the wounded boy across his bended knee; and turned his head, for an +instant, to look back at his pursuers. + +There was little to be made out, in the mist and darkness; but the loud +shouting of men vibrated through the air, and the barking of the +neighbouring dogs, roused by the sound of the alarm bell, resounded in +every direction. + +“Stop, you white-livered hound!” cried the robber, shouting after Toby +Crackit, who, making the best use of his long legs, was already ahead. +“Stop!” + +The repetition of the word, brought Toby to a dead stand-still. For he +was not quite satisfied that he was beyond the range of pistol-shot; +and Sikes was in no mood to be played with. + +“Bear a hand with the boy,” cried Sikes, beckoning furiously to his +confederate. “Come back!” + +Toby made a show of returning; but ventured, in a low voice, broken for +want of breath, to intimate considerable reluctance as he came slowly +along. + +“Quicker!” cried Sikes, laying the boy in a dry ditch at his feet, and +drawing a pistol from his pocket. “Don’t play booty with me.” + +At this moment the noise grew louder. Sikes, again looking round, could +discern that the men who had given chase were already climbing the gate +of the field in which he stood; and that a couple of dogs were some +paces in advance of them. + +“It’s all up, Bill!” cried Toby; “drop the kid, and show ’em your +heels.” With this parting advice, Mr. Crackit, preferring the chance of +being shot by his friend, to the certainty of being taken by his +enemies, fairly turned tail, and darted off at full speed. Sikes +clenched his teeth; took one look around; threw over the prostrate form +of Oliver, the cape in which he had been hurriedly muffled; ran along +the front of the hedge, as if to distract the attention of those +behind, from the spot where the boy lay; paused, for a second, before +another hedge which met it at right angles; and whirling his pistol +high into the air, cleared it at a bound, and was gone. + +“Ho, ho, there!” cried a tremulous voice in the rear. “Pincher! +Neptune! Come here, come here!” + +The dogs, who, in common with their masters, seemed to have no +particular relish for the sport in which they were engaged, readily +answered to the command. Three men, who had by this time advanced some +distance into the field, stopped to take counsel together. + +“My advice, or, leastways, I should say, my _orders_, is,” said the +fattest man of the party, “that we ’mediately go home again.” + +“I am agreeable to anything which is agreeable to Mr. Giles,” said a +shorter man; who was by no means of a slim figure, and who was very +pale in the face, and very polite: as frightened men frequently are. + +“I shouldn’t wish to appear ill-mannered, gentlemen,” said the third, +who had called the dogs back, “Mr. Giles ought to know.” + +“Certainly,” replied the shorter man; “and whatever Mr. Giles says, it +isn’t our place to contradict him. No, no, I know my sitiwation! Thank +my stars, I know my sitiwation.” To tell the truth, the little man +_did_ seem to know his situation, and to know perfectly well that it +was by no means a desirable one; for his teeth chattered in his head as +he spoke. + +“You are afraid, Brittles,” said Mr. Giles. + +“I an’t,” said Brittles. + +“You are,” said Giles. + +“You’re a falsehood, Mr. Giles,” said Brittles. + +“You’re a lie, Brittles,” said Mr. Giles. + +Now, these four retorts arose from Mr. Giles’s taunt; and Mr. Giles’s +taunt had arisen from his indignation at having the responsibility of +going home again, imposed upon himself under cover of a compliment. The +third man brought the dispute to a close, most philosophically. + +“I’ll tell you what it is, gentlemen,” said he, “we’re all afraid.” + +“Speak for yourself, sir,” said Mr. Giles, who was the palest of the +party. + +“So I do,” replied the man. “It’s natural and proper to be afraid, +under such circumstances. I am.” + +“So am I,” said Brittles; “only there’s no call to tell a man he is, so +bounceably.” + +These frank admissions softened Mr. Giles, who at once owned that _he_ +was afraid; upon which, they all three faced about, and ran back again +with the completest unanimity, until Mr. Giles (who had the shortest +wind of the party, as was encumbered with a pitchfork) most handsomely +insisted on stopping, to make an apology for his hastiness of speech. + +“But it’s wonderful,” said Mr. Giles, when he had explained, “what a +man will do, when his blood is up. I should have committed murder—I +know I should—if we’d caught one of them rascals.” + +As the other two were impressed with a similar presentiment; and as +their blood, like his, had all gone down again; some speculation ensued +upon the cause of this sudden change in their temperament. + +“I know what it was,” said Mr. Giles; “it was the gate.” + +“I shouldn’t wonder if it was,” exclaimed Brittles, catching at the +idea. + +“You may depend upon it,” said Giles, “that that gate stopped the flow +of the excitement. I felt all mine suddenly going away, as I was +climbing over it.” + +By a remarkable coincidence, the other two had been visited with the +same unpleasant sensation at that precise moment. It was quite obvious, +therefore, that it was the gate; especially as there was no doubt +regarding the time at which the change had taken place, because all +three remembered that they had come in sight of the robbers at the +instant of its occurance. + +This dialogue was held between the two men who had surprised the +burglars, and a travelling tinker who had been sleeping in an outhouse, +and who had been roused, together with his two mongrel curs, to join in +the pursuit. Mr. Giles acted in the double capacity of butler and +steward to the old lady of the mansion; Brittles was a lad of all-work: +who, having entered her service a mere child, was treated as a +promising young boy still, though he was something past thirty. + +Encouraging each other with such converse as this; but, keeping very +close together, notwithstanding, and looking apprehensively round, +whenever a fresh gust rattled through the boughs; the three men hurried +back to a tree, behind which they had left their lantern, lest its +light should inform the thieves in what direction to fire. Catching up +the light, they made the best of their way home, at a good round trot; +and long after their dusky forms had ceased to be discernible, the +light might have been seen twinkling and dancing in the distance, like +some exhalation of the damp and gloomy atmosphere through which it was +swiftly borne. + +The air grew colder, as day came slowly on; and the mist rolled along +the ground like a dense cloud of smoke. The grass was wet; the +pathways, and low places, were all mire and water; the damp breath of +an unwholesome wind went languidly by, with a hollow moaning. Still, +Oliver lay motionless and insensible on the spot where Sikes had left +him. + +Morning drew on apace. The air became more sharp and piercing, as its +first dull hue—the death of night, rather than the birth of +day—glimmered faintly in the sky. The objects which had looked dim and +terrible in the darkness, grew more and more defined, and gradually +resolved into their familiar shapes. The rain came down, thick and +fast, and pattered noisily among the leafless bushes. But, Oliver felt +it not, as it beat against him; for he still lay stretched, helpless +and unconscious, on his bed of clay. + +At length, a low cry of pain broke the stillness that prevailed; and +uttering it, the boy awoke. His left arm, rudely bandaged in a shawl, +hung heavy and useless at his side; the bandage was saturated with +blood. He was so weak, that he could scarcely raise himself into a +sitting posture; when he had done so, he looked feebly round for help, +and groaned with pain. Trembling in every joint, from cold and +exhaustion, he made an effort to stand upright; but, shuddering from +head to foot, fell prostrate on the ground. + +After a short return of the stupor in which he had been so long +plunged, Oliver: urged by a creeping sickness at his heart, which +seemed to warn him that if he lay there, he must surely die: got upon +his feet, and essayed to walk. His head was dizzy, and he staggered to +and fro like a drunken man. But he kept up, nevertheless, and, with his +head drooping languidly on his breast, went stumbling onward, he knew +not whither. + +And now, hosts of bewildering and confused ideas came crowding on his +mind. He seemed to be still walking between Sikes and Crackit, who were +angrily disputing—for the very words they said, sounded in his ears; +and when he caught his own attention, as it were, by making some +violent effort to save himself from falling, he found that he was +talking to them. Then, he was alone with Sikes, plodding on as on the +previous day; and as shadowy people passed them, he felt the robber’s +grasp upon his wrist. Suddenly, he started back at the report of +firearms; there rose into the air, loud cries and shouts; lights +gleamed before his eyes; all was noise and tumult, as some unseen hand +bore him hurriedly away. Through all these rapid visions, there ran an +undefined, uneasy consciousness of pain, which wearied and tormented +him incessantly. + +Thus he staggered on, creeping, almost mechanically, between the bars +of gates, or through hedge-gaps as they came in his way, until he +reached a road. Here the rain began to fall so heavily, that it roused +him. + +He looked about, and saw that at no great distance there was a house, +which perhaps he could reach. Pitying his condition, they might have +compassion on him; and if they did not, it would be better, he thought, +to die near human beings, than in the lonely open fields. He summoned +up all his strength for one last trial, and bent his faltering steps +towards it. + +As he drew nearer to this house, a feeling come over him that he had +seen it before. He remembered nothing of its details; but the shape and +aspect of the building seemed familiar to him. + +That garden wall! On the grass inside, he had fallen on his knees last +night, and prayed the two men’s mercy. It was the very house they had +attempted to rob. + +Oliver felt such fear come over him when he recognised the place, that, +for the instant, he forgot the agony of his wound, and thought only of +flight. Flight! He could scarcely stand: and if he were in full +possession of all the best powers of his slight and youthful frame, +whither could he fly? He pushed against the garden-gate; it was +unlocked, and swung open on its hinges. He tottered across the lawn; +climbed the steps; knocked faintly at the door; and, his whole strength +failing him, sunk down against one of the pillars of the little +portico. + +It happened that about this time, Mr. Giles, Brittles, and the tinker, +were recruiting themselves, after the fatigues and terrors of the +night, with tea and sundries, in the kitchen. Not that it was Mr. +Giles’s habit to admit to too great familiarity the humbler servants: +towards whom it was rather his wont to deport himself with a lofty +affability, which, while it gratified, could not fail to remind them of +his superior position in society. But, death, fires, and burglary, make +all men equals; so Mr. Giles sat with his legs stretched out before the +kitchen fender, leaning his left arm on the table, while, with his +right, he illustrated a circumstantial and minute account of the +robbery, to which his hearers (but especially the cook and housemaid, +who were of the party) listened with breathless interest. + +“It was about half-past two,” said Mr. Giles, “or I wouldn’t swear that +it mightn’t have been a little nearer three, when I woke up, and, +turning round in my bed, as it might be so, (here Mr. Giles turned +round in his chair, and pulled the corner of the table-cloth over him +to imitate bed-clothes,) I fancied I heerd a noise.” + +At this point of the narrative the cook turned pale, and asked the +housemaid to shut the door: who asked Brittles, who asked the tinker, +who pretended not to hear. + +“—Heerd a noise,” continued Mr. Giles. “I says, at first, ‘This is +illusion’; and was composing myself off to sleep, when I heerd the +noise again, distinct.” + +“What sort of a noise?” asked the cook. + +“A kind of a busting noise,” replied Mr. Giles, looking round him. + +“More like the noise of powdering a iron bar on a nutmeg-grater,” +suggested Brittles. + +“It was, when _you_ heerd it, sir,” rejoined Mr. Giles; “but, at this +time, it had a busting sound. I turned down the clothes”; continued +Giles, rolling back the table-cloth, “sat up in bed; and listened.” + +The cook and housemaid simultaneously ejaculated “Lor!” and drew their +chairs closer together. + +“I heerd it now, quite apparent,” resumed Mr. Giles. “‘Somebody,’ I +says, ‘is forcing of a door, or window; what’s to be done? I’ll call up +that poor lad, Brittles, and save him from being murdered in his bed; +or his throat,’ I says, ‘may be cut from his right ear to his left, +without his ever knowing it.’” + +Here, all eyes were turned upon Brittles, who fixed his upon the +speaker, and stared at him, with his mouth wide open, and his face +expressive of the most unmitigated horror. + +“I tossed off the clothes,” said Giles, throwing away the table-cloth, +and looking very hard at the cook and housemaid, “got softly out of +bed; drew on a pair of—” + +“Ladies present, Mr. Giles,” murmured the tinker. + +“—Of _shoes_, sir,” said Giles, turning upon him, and laying great +emphasis on the word; “seized the loaded pistol that always goes +upstairs with the plate-basket; and walked on tiptoes to his room. +‘Brittles,’ I says, when I had woke him, ‘don’t be frightened!’” + +“So you did,” observed Brittles, in a low voice. + +“‘We’re dead men, I think, Brittles,’ I says,” continued Giles; “‘but +don’t be frightened.’” + +“_Was_ he frightened?” asked the cook. + +“Not a bit of it,” replied Mr. Giles. “He was as firm—ah! pretty near +as firm as I was.” + +“I should have died at once, I’m sure, if it had been me,” observed the +housemaid. + +“You’re a woman,” retorted Brittles, plucking up a little. + +“Brittles is right,” said Mr. Giles, nodding his head, approvingly; +“from a woman, nothing else was to be expected. We, being men, took a +dark lantern that was standing on Brittle’s hob, and groped our way +downstairs in the pitch dark,—as it might be so.” + +Mr. Giles had risen from his seat, and taken two steps with his eyes +shut, to accompany his description with appropriate action, when he +started violently, in common with the rest of the company, and hurried +back to his chair. The cook and housemaid screamed. + +“It was a knock,” said Mr. Giles, assuming perfect serenity. “Open the +door, somebody.” + +Nobody moved. + +“It seems a strange sort of a thing, a knock coming at such a time in +the morning,” said Mr. Giles, surveying the pale faces which surrounded +him, and looking very blank himself; “but the door must be opened. Do +you hear, somebody?” + +Mr. Giles, as he spoke, looked at Brittles; but that young man, being +naturally modest, probably considered himself nobody, and so held that +the inquiry could not have any application to him; at all events, he +tendered no reply. Mr. Giles directed an appealing glance at the +tinker; but he had suddenly fallen asleep. The women were out of the +question. + +“If Brittles would rather open the door, in the presence of witnesses,” +said Mr. Giles, after a short silence, “I am ready to make one.” + +“So am I,” said the tinker, waking up, as suddenly as he had fallen +asleep. + +Brittles capitulated on these terms; and the party being somewhat +re-assured by the discovery (made on throwing open the shutters) that +it was now broad day, took their way upstairs; with the dogs in front. +The two women, who were afraid to stay below, brought up the rear. By +the advice of Mr. Giles, they all talked very loud, to warn any +evil-disposed person outside, that they were strong in numbers; and by +a master-stoke of policy, originating in the brain of the same +ingenious gentleman, the dogs’ tails were well pinched, in the hall, to +make them bark savagely. + +These precautions having been taken, Mr. Giles held on fast by the +tinker’s arm (to prevent his running away, as he pleasantly said), and +gave the word of command to open the door. Brittles obeyed; the group, +peeping timorously over each other’s shoulders, beheld no more +formidable object than poor little Oliver Twist, speechless and +exhausted, who raised his heavy eyes, and mutely solicited their +compassion. + +“A boy!” exclaimed Mr. Giles, valiantly, pushing the tinker into the +background. “What’s the matter with the—eh?—Why—Brittles—look +here—don’t you know?” + +Brittles, who had got behind the door to open it, no sooner saw Oliver, +than he uttered a loud cry. Mr. Giles, seizing the boy by one leg and +one arm (fortunately not the broken limb) lugged him straight into the +hall, and deposited him at full length on the floor thereof. + +“Here he is!” bawled Giles, calling in a state of great excitement, up +the staircase; “here’s one of the thieves, ma’am! Here’s a thief, miss! +Wounded, miss! I shot him, miss; and Brittles held the light.” + +“—In a lantern, miss,” cried Brittles, applying one hand to the side of +his mouth, so that his voice might travel the better. + +The two women-servants ran upstairs to carry the intelligence that Mr. +Giles had captured a robber; and the tinker busied himself in +endeavouring to restore Oliver, lest he should die before he could be +hanged. In the midst of all this noise and commotion, there was heard a +sweet female voice, which quelled it in an instant. + +“Giles!” whispered the voice from the stair-head. + +“I’m here, miss,” replied Mr. Giles. “Don’t be frightened, miss; I +ain’t much injured. He didn’t make a very desperate resistance, miss! I +was soon too many for him.” + +“Hush!” replied the young lady; “you frighten my aunt as much as the +thieves did. Is the poor creature much hurt?” + +“Wounded desperate, miss,” replied Giles, with indescribable +complacency. + +“He looks as if he was a-going, miss,” bawled Brittles, in the same +manner as before. “Wouldn’t you like to come and look at him, miss, in +case he should?” + +“Hush, pray; there’s a good man!” rejoined the lady. “Wait quietly only +one instant, while I speak to aunt.” + +With a footstep as soft and gentle as the voice, the speaker tripped +away. She soon returned, with the direction that the wounded person was +to be carried, carefully, upstairs to Mr. Giles’s room; and that +Brittles was to saddle the pony and betake himself instantly to +Chertsey: from which place, he was to despatch, with all speed, a +constable and doctor. + +“But won’t you take one look at him, first, miss?” asked Mr. Giles, +with as much pride as if Oliver were some bird of rare plumage, that he +had skilfully brought down. “Not one little peep, miss?” + +“Not now, for the world,” replied the young lady. “Poor fellow! Oh! +treat him kindly, Giles for my sake!” + +The old servant looked up at the speaker, as she turned away, with a +glance as proud and admiring as if she had been his own child. Then, +bending over Oliver, he helped to carry him upstairs, with the care and +solicitude of a woman. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIX. +HAS AN INTRODUCTORY ACCOUNT OF THE INMATES OF THE HOUSE, TO WHICH +OLIVER RESORTED + + +In a handsome room: though its furniture had rather the air of +old-fashioned comfort, than of modern elegance: there sat two ladies at +a well-spread breakfast-table. Mr. Giles, dressed with scrupulous care +in a full suit of black, was in attendance upon them. He had taken his +station some half-way between the side-board and the breakfast-table; +and, with his body drawn up to its full height, his head thrown back, +and inclined the merest trifle on one side, his left leg advanced, and +his right hand thrust into his waist-coat, while his left hung down by +his side, grasping a waiter, looked like one who laboured under a very +agreeable sense of his own merits and importance. + +Of the two ladies, one was well advanced in years; but the high-backed +oaken chair in which she sat, was not more upright than she. Dressed +with the utmost nicety and precision, in a quaint mixture of by-gone +costume, with some slight concessions to the prevailing taste, which +rather served to point the old style pleasantly than to impair its +effect, she sat, in a stately manner, with her hands folded on the +table before her. Her eyes (and age had dimmed but little of their +brightness) were attentively upon her young companion. + +The younger lady was in the lovely bloom and spring-time of womanhood; +at that age, when, if ever angels be for God’s good purposes enthroned +in mortal forms, they may be, without impiety, supposed to abide in +such as hers. + +She was not past seventeen. Cast in so slight and exquisite a mould; so +mild and gentle; so pure and beautiful; that earth seemed not her +element, nor its rough creatures her fit companions. The very +intelligence that shone in her deep blue eye, and was stamped upon her +noble head, seemed scarcely of her age, or of the world; and yet the +changing expression of sweetness and good humour, the thousand lights +that played about the face, and left no shadow there; above all, the +smile, the cheerful, happy smile, were made for Home, and fireside +peace and happiness. + +She was busily engaged in the little offices of the table. Chancing to +raise her eyes as the elder lady was regarding her, she playfully put +back her hair, which was simply braided on her forehead; and threw into +her beaming look, such an expression of affection and artless +loveliness, that blessed spirits might have smiled to look upon her. + +“And Brittles has been gone upwards of an hour, has he?” asked the old +lady, after a pause. + +“An hour and twelve minutes, ma’am,” replied Mr. Giles, referring to a +silver watch, which he drew forth by a black ribbon. + +“He is always slow,” remarked the old lady. + +“Brittles always was a slow boy, ma’am,” replied the attendant. And +seeing, by the bye, that Brittles had been a slow boy for upwards of +thirty years, there appeared no great probability of his ever being a +fast one. + +“He gets worse instead of better, I think,” said the elder lady. + +“It is very inexcusable in him if he stops to play with any other +boys,” said the young lady, smiling. + +Mr. Giles was apparently considering the propriety of indulging in a +respectful smile himself, when a gig drove up to the garden-gate: out +of which there jumped a fat gentleman, who ran straight up to the door: +and who, getting quickly into the house by some mysterious process, +burst into the room, and nearly overturned Mr. Giles and the +breakfast-table together. + +“I never heard of such a thing!” exclaimed the fat gentleman. “My dear +Mrs. Maylie—bless my soul—in the silence of the night, too—I _never_ +heard of such a thing!” + +With these expressions of condolence, the fat gentleman shook hands +with both ladies, and drawing up a chair, inquired how they found +themselves. + +“You ought to be dead; positively dead with the fright,” said the fat +gentleman. “Why didn’t you send? Bless me, my man should have come in a +minute; and so would I; and my assistant would have been delighted; or +anybody, I’m sure, under such circumstances. Dear, dear! So unexpected! +In the silence of the night, too!” + +The doctor seemed especially troubled by the fact of the robbery having +been unexpected, and attempted in the night-time; as if it were the +established custom of gentlemen in the housebreaking way to transact +business at noon, and to make an appointment, by post, a day or two +previous. + +“And you, Miss Rose,” said the doctor, turning to the young lady, “I—” + +“Oh! very much so, indeed,” said Rose, interrupting him; “but there is +a poor creature upstairs, whom aunt wishes you to see.” + +“Ah! to be sure,” replied the doctor, “so there is. That was your +handiwork, Giles, I understand.” + +Mr. Giles, who had been feverishly putting the tea-cups to rights, +blushed very red, and said that he had had that honour. + +“Honour, eh?” said the doctor; “well, I don’t know; perhaps it’s as +honourable to hit a thief in a back kitchen, as to hit your man at +twelve paces. Fancy that he fired in the air, and you’ve fought a duel, +Giles.” + +Mr. Giles, who thought this light treatment of the matter an unjust +attempt at diminishing his glory, answered respectfully, that it was +not for the like of him to judge about that; but he rather thought it +was no joke to the opposite party. + +“Gad, that’s true!” said the doctor. “Where is he? Show me the way. +I’ll look in again, as I come down, Mrs. Maylie. That’s the little +window that he got in at, eh? Well, I couldn’t have believed it!” + +Talking all the way, he followed Mr. Giles upstairs; and while he is +going upstairs, the reader may be informed, that Mr. Losberne, a +surgeon in the neighbourhood, known through a circuit of ten miles +round as “the doctor,” had grown fat, more from good-humour than from +good living: and was as kind and hearty, and withal as eccentric an old +bachelor, as will be found in five times that space, by any explorer +alive. + +The doctor was absent, much longer than either he or the ladies had +anticipated. A large flat box was fetched out of the gig; and a bedroom +bell was rung very often; and the servants ran up and down stairs +perpetually; from which tokens it was justly concluded that something +important was going on above. At length he returned; and in reply to an +anxious inquiry after his patient; looked very mysterious, and closed +the door, carefully. + +“This is a very extraordinary thing, Mrs. Maylie,” said the doctor, +standing with his back to the door, as if to keep it shut. + +“He is not in danger, I hope?” said the old lady. + +“Why, that would _not_ be an extraordinary thing, under the +circumstances,” replied the doctor; “though I don’t think he is. Have +you seen the thief?” + +“No,” rejoined the old lady. + +“Nor heard anything about him?” + +“No.” + +“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” interposed Mr. Giles; “but I was going to +tell you about him when Doctor Losberne came in.” + +The fact was, that Mr. Giles had not, at first, been able to bring his +mind to the avowal, that he had only shot a boy. Such commendations had +been bestowed upon his bravery, that he could not, for the life of him, +help postponing the explanation for a few delicious minutes; during +which he had flourished, in the very zenith of a brief reputation for +undaunted courage. + +“Rose wished to see the man,” said Mrs. Maylie, “but I wouldn’t hear of +it.” + +“Humph!” rejoined the doctor. “There is nothing very alarming in his +appearance. Have you any objection to see him in my presence?” + +“If it be necessary,” replied the old lady, “certainly not.” + +“Then I think it is necessary,” said the doctor; “at all events, I am +quite sure that you would deeply regret not having done so, if you +postponed it. He is perfectly quiet and comfortable now. Allow me—Miss +Rose, will you permit me? Not the slightest fear, I pledge you my +honour!” + + + + + CHAPTER XXX. +RELATES WHAT OLIVER’S NEW VISITORS THOUGHT OF HIM + + +With many loquacious assurances that they would be agreeably surprised +in the aspect of the criminal, the doctor drew the young lady’s arm +through one of his; and offering his disengaged hand to Mrs. Maylie, +led them, with much ceremony and stateliness, upstairs. + +“Now,” said the doctor, in a whisper, as he softly turned the handle of +a bedroom-door, “let us hear what you think of him. He has not been +shaved very recently, but he don’t look at all ferocious +notwithstanding. Stop, though! Let me first see that he is in visiting +order.” + +Stepping before them, he looked into the room. Motioning them to +advance, he closed the door when they had entered; and gently drew back +the curtains of the bed. Upon it, in lieu of the dogged, black-visaged +ruffian they had expected to behold, there lay a mere child: worn with +pain and exhaustion, and sunk into a deep sleep. His wounded arm, bound +and splintered up, was crossed upon his breast; his head reclined upon +the other arm, which was half hidden by his long hair, as it streamed +over the pillow. + +The honest gentleman held the curtain in his hand, and looked on, for a +minute or so, in silence. Whilst he was watching the patient thus, the +younger lady glided softly past, and seating herself in a chair by the +bedside, gathered Oliver’s hair from his face. As she stooped over him, +her tears fell upon his forehead. + +The boy stirred, and smiled in his sleep, as though these marks of pity +and compassion had awakened some pleasant dream of a love and affection +he had never known. Thus, a strain of gentle music, or the rippling of +water in a silent place, or the odour of a flower, or the mention of a +familiar word, will sometimes call up sudden dim remembrances of scenes +that never were, in this life; which vanish like a breath; which some +brief memory of a happier existence, long gone by, would seem to have +awakened; which no voluntary exertion of the mind can ever recall. + +“What can this mean?” exclaimed the elder lady. “This poor child can +never have been the pupil of robbers!” + +“Vice,” said the surgeon, replacing the curtain, “takes up her abode in +many temples; and who can say that a fair outside shall not enshrine +her?” + +“But at so early an age!” urged Rose. + +“My dear young lady,” rejoined the surgeon, mournfully shaking his +head; “crime, like death, is not confined to the old and withered +alone. The youngest and fairest are too often its chosen victims.” + +“But, can you—oh! can you really believe that this delicate boy has +been the voluntary associate of the worst outcasts of society?” said +Rose. + +The surgeon shook his head, in a manner which intimated that he feared +it was very possible; and observing that they might disturb the +patient, led the way into an adjoining apartment. + +“But even if he has been wicked,” pursued Rose, “think how young he is; +think that he may never have known a mother’s love, or the comfort of a +home; that ill-usage and blows, or the want of bread, may have driven +him to herd with men who have forced him to guilt. Aunt, dear aunt, for +mercy’s sake, think of this, before you let them drag this sick child +to a prison, which in any case must be the grave of all his chances of +amendment. Oh! as you love me, and know that I have never felt the want +of parents in your goodness and affection, but that I might have done +so, and might have been equally helpless and unprotected with this poor +child, have pity upon him before it is too late!” + +“My dear love,” said the elder lady, as she folded the weeping girl to +her bosom, “do you think I would harm a hair of his head?” + +“Oh, no!” replied Rose, eagerly. + +“No, surely,” said the old lady; “my days are drawing to their close: +and may mercy be shown to me as I show it to others! What can I do to +save him, sir?” + +“Let me think, ma’am,” said the doctor; “let me think.” + +Mr. Losberne thrust his hands into his pockets, and took several turns +up and down the room; often stopping, and balancing himself on his +toes, and frowning frightfully. After various exclamations of “I’ve got +it now” and “no, I haven’t,” and as many renewals of the walking and +frowning, he at length made a dead halt, and spoke as follows: + +“I think if you give me a full and unlimited commission to bully Giles, +and that little boy, Brittles, I can manage it. Giles is a faithful +fellow and an old servant, I know; but you can make it up to him in a +thousand ways, and reward him for being such a good shot besides. You +don’t object to that?” + +“Unless there is some other way of preserving the child,” replied Mrs. +Maylie. + +“There is no other,” said the doctor. “No other, take my word for it.” + +“Then my aunt invests you with full power,” said Rose, smiling through +her tears; “but pray don’t be harder upon the poor fellows than is +indispensably necessary.” + +“You seem to think,” retorted the doctor, “that everybody is disposed +to be hard-hearted today, except yourself, Miss Rose. I only hope, for +the sake of the rising male sex generally, that you may be found in as +vulnerable and soft-hearted a mood by the first eligible young fellow +who appeals to your compassion; and I wish I were a young fellow, that +I might avail myself, on the spot, of such a favourable opportunity for +doing so, as the present.” + +“You are as great a boy as poor Brittles himself,” returned Rose, +blushing. + +“Well,” said the doctor, laughing heartily, “that is no very difficult +matter. But to return to this boy. The great point of our agreement is +yet to come. He will wake in an hour or so, I dare say; and although I +have told that thick-headed constable-fellow downstairs that he musn’t +be moved or spoken to, on peril of his life, I think we may converse +with him without danger. Now I make this stipulation—that I shall +examine him in your presence, and that, if, from what he says, we +judge, and I can show to the satisfaction of your cool reason, that he +is a real and thorough bad one (which is more than possible), he shall +be left to his fate, without any farther interference on my part, at +all events.” + +“Oh no, aunt!” entreated Rose. + +“Oh yes, aunt!” said the doctor. “Is it a bargain?” + +“He cannot be hardened in vice,” said Rose; “It is impossible.” + +“Very good,” retorted the doctor; “then so much the more reason for +acceding to my proposition.” + +Finally the treaty was entered into; and the parties thereunto sat down +to wait, with some impatience, until Oliver should awake. + +The patience of the two ladies was destined to undergo a longer trial +than Mr. Losberne had led them to expect; for hour after hour passed +on, and still Oliver slumbered heavily. It was evening, indeed, before +the kind-hearted doctor brought them the intelligence, that he was at +length sufficiently restored to be spoken to. The boy was very ill, he +said, and weak from the loss of blood; but his mind was so troubled +with anxiety to disclose something, that he deemed it better to give +him the opportunity, than to insist upon his remaining quiet until next +morning: which he should otherwise have done. + +The conference was a long one. Oliver told them all his simple history, +and was often compelled to stop, by pain and want of strength. It was a +solemn thing, to hear, in the darkened room, the feeble voice of the +sick child recounting a weary catalogue of evils and calamities which +hard men had brought upon him. Oh! if when we oppress and grind our +fellow-creatures, we bestowed but one thought on the dark evidences of +human error, which, like dense and heavy clouds, are rising, slowly it +is true, but not less surely, to Heaven, to pour their after-vengeance +on our heads; if we heard but one instant, in imagination, the deep +testimony of dead men’s voices, which no power can stifle, and no pride +shut out; where would be the injury and injustice, the suffering, +misery, cruelty, and wrong, that each day’s life brings with it! + +Oliver’s pillow was smoothed by gentle hands that night; and loveliness +and virtue watched him as he slept. He felt calm and happy, and could +have died without a murmur. + +The momentous interview was no sooner concluded, and Oliver composed to +rest again, than the doctor, after wiping his eyes, and condemning them +for being weak all at once, betook himself downstairs to open upon Mr. +Giles. And finding nobody about the parlours, it occurred to him, that +he could perhaps originate the proceedings with better effect in the +kitchen; so into the kitchen he went. + +There were assembled, in that lower house of the domestic parliament, +the women-servants, Mr. Brittles, Mr. Giles, the tinker (who had +received a special invitation to regale himself for the remainder of +the day, in consideration of his services), and the constable. The +latter gentleman had a large staff, a large head, large features, and +large half-boots; and he looked as if he had been taking a +proportionate allowance of ale—as indeed he had. + +The adventures of the previous night were still under discussion; for +Mr. Giles was expatiating upon his presence of mind, when the doctor +entered; Mr. Brittles, with a mug of ale in his hand, was corroborating +everything, before his superior said it. + +“Sit still!” said the doctor, waving his hand. + +“Thank you, sir,” said Mr. Giles. “Misses wished some ale to be given +out, sir; and as I felt no ways inclined for my own little room, sir, +and was disposed for company, I am taking mine among ’em here.” + +Brittles headed a low murmur, by which the ladies and gentlemen +generally were understood to express the gratification they derived +from Mr. Giles’s condescension. Mr. Giles looked round with a +patronising air, as much as to say that so long as they behaved +properly, he would never desert them. + +“How is the patient tonight, sir?” asked Giles. + +“So-so”; returned the doctor. “I am afraid you have got yourself into a +scrape there, Mr. Giles.” + +“I hope you don’t mean to say, sir,” said Mr. Giles, trembling, “that +he’s going to die. If I thought it, I should never be happy again. I +wouldn’t cut a boy off: no, not even Brittles here; not for all the +plate in the county, sir.” + +“That’s not the point,” said the doctor, mysteriously. “Mr. Giles, are +you a Protestant?” + +“Yes, sir, I hope so,” faltered Mr. Giles, who had turned very pale. + +“And what are _you_, boy?” said the doctor, turning sharply upon +Brittles. + +“Lord bless me, sir!” replied Brittles, starting violently; “I’m the +same as Mr. Giles, sir.” + +“Then tell me this,” said the doctor, “both of you, both of you! Are +you going to take upon yourselves to swear, that that boy upstairs is +the boy that was put through the little window last night? Out with it! +Come! We are prepared for you!” + +The doctor, who was universally considered one of the best-tempered +creatures on earth, made this demand in such a dreadful tone of anger, +that Giles and Brittles, who were considerably muddled by ale and +excitement, stared at each other in a state of stupefaction. + +“Pay attention to the reply, constable, will you?” said the doctor, +shaking his forefinger with great solemnity of manner, and tapping the +bridge of his nose with it, to bespeak the exercise of that worthy’s +utmost acuteness. “Something may come of this before long.” + +The constable looked as wise as he could, and took up his staff of +office: which had been reclining indolently in the chimney-corner. + +“It’s a simple question of identity, you will observe,” said the +doctor. + +“That’s what it is, sir,” replied the constable, coughing with great +violence; for he had finished his ale in a hurry, and some of it had +gone the wrong way. + +“Here’s the house broken into,” said the doctor, “and a couple of men +catch one moment’s glimpse of a boy, in the midst of gunpowder smoke, +and in all the distraction of alarm and darkness. Here’s a boy comes to +that very same house, next morning, and because he happens to have his +arm tied up, these men lay violent hands upon him—by doing which, they +place his life in great danger—and swear he is the thief. Now, the +question is, whether these men are justified by the fact; if not, in +what situation do they place themselves?” + +The constable nodded profoundly. He said, if that wasn’t law, he would +be glad to know what was. + +“I ask you again,” thundered the doctor, “are you, on your solemn +oaths, able to identify that boy?” + +Brittles looked doubtfully at Mr. Giles; Mr. Giles looked doubtfully at +Brittles; the constable put his hand behind his ear, to catch the +reply; the two women and the tinker leaned forward to listen; the +doctor glanced keenly round; when a ring was heard at the gate, and at +the same moment, the sound of wheels. + +“It’s the runners!” cried Brittles, to all appearance much relieved. + +“The what?” exclaimed the doctor, aghast in his turn. + +“The Bow Street officers, sir,” replied Brittles, taking up a candle; +“me and Mr. Giles sent for ’em this morning.” + +“What?” cried the doctor. + +“Yes,” replied Brittles; “I sent a message up by the coachman, and I +only wonder they weren’t here before, sir.” + +“You did, did you? Then confound your—slow coaches down here; that’s +all,” said the doctor, walking away. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXI. +INVOLVES A CRITICAL POSITION + + +“Who’s that?” inquired Brittles, opening the door a little way, with +the chain up, and peeping out, shading the candle with his hand. + +“Open the door,” replied a man outside; “it’s the officers from Bow +Street, as was sent to today.” + +Much comforted by this assurance, Brittles opened the door to its full +width, and confronted a portly man in a great-coat; who walked in, +without saying anything more, and wiped his shoes on the mat, as coolly +as if he lived there. + +“Just send somebody out to relieve my mate, will you, young man?” said +the officer; “he’s in the gig, a-minding the prad. Have you got a coach +’us here, that you could put it up in, for five or ten minutes?” + +Brittles replying in the affirmative, and pointing out the building, +the portly man stepped back to the garden-gate, and helped his +companion to put up the gig: while Brittles lighted them, in a state of +great admiration. This done, they returned to the house, and, being +shown into a parlour, took off their great-coats and hats, and showed +like what they were. + +The man who had knocked at the door, was a stout personage of middle +height, aged about fifty: with shiny black hair, cropped pretty close; +half-whiskers, a round face, and sharp eyes. The other was a +red-headed, bony man, in top-boots; with a rather ill-favoured +countenance, and a turned-up sinister-looking nose. + +“Tell your governor that Blathers and Duff is here, will you?” said the +stouter man, smoothing down his hair, and laying a pair of handcuffs on +the table. “Oh! Good-evening, master. Can I have a word or two with you +in private, if you please?” + +This was addressed to Mr. Losberne, who now made his appearance; that +gentleman, motioning Brittles to retire, brought in the two ladies, and +shut the door. + +“This is the lady of the house,” said Mr. Losberne, motioning towards +Mrs. Maylie. + +Mr. Blathers made a bow. Being desired to sit down, he put his hat on +the floor, and taking a chair, motioned to Duff to do the same. The +latter gentleman, who did not appear quite so much accustomed to good +society, or quite so much at his ease in it—one of the two—seated +himself, after undergoing several muscular affections of the limbs, and +the head of his stick into his mouth, with some embarrassment. + +“Now, with regard to this here robbery, master,” said Blathers. “What +are the circumstances?” + +Mr. Losberne, who appeared desirous of gaining time, recounted them at +great length, and with much circumlocution. Messrs. Blathers and Duff +looked very knowing meanwhile, and occasionally exchanged a nod. + +“I can’t say, for certain, till I see the work, of course,” said +Blathers; “but my opinion at once is,—I don’t mind committing myself to +that extent,—that this wasn’t done by a yokel; eh, Duff?” + +“Certainly not,” replied Duff. + +“And, translating the word yokel for the benefit of the ladies, I +apprehend your meaning to be, that this attempt was not made by a +countryman?” said Mr. Losberne, with a smile. + +“That’s it, master,” replied Blathers. “This is all about the robbery, +is it?” + +“All,” replied the doctor. + +“Now, what is this, about this here boy that the servants are a-talking +on?” said Blathers. + +“Nothing at all,” replied the doctor. “One of the frightened servants +chose to take it into his head, that he had something to do with this +attempt to break into the house; but it’s nonsense: sheer absurdity.” + +“Wery easy disposed of, if it is,” remarked Duff. + +“What he says is quite correct,” observed Blathers, nodding his head in +a confirmatory way, and playing carelessly with the handcuffs, as if +they were a pair of castanets. “Who is the boy? What account does he +give of himself? Where did he come from? He didn’t drop out of the +clouds, did he, master?” + +“Of course not,” replied the doctor, with a nervous glance at the two +ladies. “I know his whole history: but we can talk about that +presently. You would like, first, to see the place where the thieves +made their attempt, I suppose?” + +“Certainly,” rejoined Mr. Blathers. “We had better inspect the premises +first, and examine the servants afterwards. That’s the usual way of +doing business.” + +Lights were then procured; and Messrs. Blathers and Duff, attended by +the native constable, Brittles, Giles, and everybody else in short, +went into the little room at the end of the passage and looked out at +the window; and afterwards went round by way of the lawn, and looked in +at the window; and after that, had a candle handed out to inspect the +shutter with; and after that, a lantern to trace the footsteps with; +and after that, a pitchfork to poke the bushes with. This done, amidst +the breathless interest of all beholders, they came in again; and Mr. +Giles and Brittles were put through a melodramatic representation of +their share in the previous night’s adventures: which they performed +some six times over: contradicting each other, in not more than one +important respect, the first time, and in not more than a dozen the +last. This consummation being arrived at, Blathers and Duff cleared the +room, and held a long council together, compared with which, for +secrecy and solemnity, a consultation of great doctors on the knottiest +point in medicine, would be mere child’s play. + +Meanwhile, the doctor walked up and down the next room in a very uneasy +state; and Mrs. Maylie and Rose looked on, with anxious faces. + +“Upon my word,” he said, making a halt, after a great number of very +rapid turns, “I hardly know what to do.” + +“Surely,” said Rose, “the poor child’s story, faithfully repeated to +these men, will be sufficient to exonerate him.” + +“I doubt it, my dear young lady,” said the doctor, shaking his head. “I +don’t think it would exonerate him, either with them, or with legal +functionaries of a higher grade. What is he, after all, they would say? +A runaway. Judged by mere worldly considerations and probabilities, his +story is a very doubtful one.” + +“You believe it, surely?” interrupted Rose. + +“_I_ believe it, strange as it is; and perhaps I may be an old fool for +doing so,” rejoined the doctor; “but I don’t think it is exactly the +tale for a practical police-officer, nevertheless.” + +“Why not?” demanded Rose. + +“Because, my pretty cross-examiner,” replied the doctor: “because, +viewed with their eyes, there are many ugly points about it; he can +only prove the parts that look ill, and none of those that look well. +Confound the fellows, they _will_ have the why and the wherefore, and +will take nothing for granted. On his own showing, you see, he has been +the companion of thieves for some time past; he has been carried to a +police-officer, on a charge of picking a gentleman’s pocket; he has +been taken away, forcibly, from that gentleman’s house, to a place +which he cannot describe or point out, and of the situation of which he +has not the remotest idea. He is brought down to Chertsey, by men who +seem to have taken a violent fancy to him, whether he will or no; and +is put through a window to rob a house; and then, just at the very +moment when he is going to alarm the inmates, and so do the very thing +that would set him all to rights, there rushes into the way, a +blundering dog of a half-bred butler, and shoots him! As if on purpose +to prevent his doing any good for himself! Don’t you see all this?” + +“I see it, of course,” replied Rose, smiling at the doctor’s +impetuosity; “but still I do not see anything in it, to criminate the +poor child.” + +“No,” replied the doctor; “of course not! Bless the bright eyes of your +sex! They never see, whether for good or bad, more than one side of any +question; and that is, always, the one which first presents itself to +them.” + +Having given vent to this result of experience, the doctor put his +hands into his pockets, and walked up and down the room with even +greater rapidity than before. + +“The more I think of it,” said the doctor, “the more I see that it will +occasion endless trouble and difficulty if we put these men in +possession of the boy’s real story. I am certain it will not be +believed; and even if they can do nothing to him in the end, still the +dragging it forward, and giving publicity to all the doubts that will +be cast upon it, must interfere, materially, with your benevolent plan +of rescuing him from misery.” + +“Oh! what is to be done?” cried Rose. “Dear, dear! why did they send +for these people?” + +“Why, indeed!” exclaimed Mrs. Maylie. “I would not have had them here, +for the world.” + +“All I know is,” said Mr. Losberne, at last: sitting down with a kind +of desperate calmness, “that we must try and carry it off with a bold +face. The object is a good one, and that must be our excuse. The boy +has strong symptoms of fever upon him, and is in no condition to be +talked to any more; that’s one comfort. We must make the best of it; +and if bad be the best, it is no fault of ours. Come in!” + +“Well, master,” said Blathers, entering the room followed by his +colleague, and making the door fast, before he said any more. “This +warn’t a put-up thing.” + +“And what the devil’s a put-up thing?” demanded the doctor, +impatiently. + +“We call it a put-up robbery, ladies,” said Blathers, turning to them, +as if he pitied their ignorance, but had a contempt for the doctor’s, +“when the servants is in it.” + +“Nobody suspected them, in this case,” said Mrs. Maylie. + +“Wery likely not, ma’am,” replied Blathers; “but they might have been +in it, for all that.” + +“More likely on that wery account,” said Duff. + +“We find it was a town hand,” said Blathers, continuing his report; +“for the style of work is first-rate.” + +“Wery pretty indeed it is,” remarked Duff, in an undertone. + +“There was two of ’em in it,” continued Blathers; “and they had a boy +with ’em; that’s plain from the size of the window. That’s all to be +said at present. We’ll see this lad that you’ve got upstairs at once, +if you please.” + +“Perhaps they will take something to drink first, Mrs. Maylie?” said +the doctor: his face brightening, as if some new thought had occurred +to him. + +“Oh! to be sure!” exclaimed Rose, eagerly. “You shall have it +immediately, if you will.” + +“Why, thank you, miss!” said Blathers, drawing his coat-sleeve across +his mouth; “it’s dry work, this sort of duty. Anythink that’s handy, +miss; don’t put yourself out of the way, on our accounts.” + +“What shall it be?” asked the doctor, following the young lady to the +sideboard. + +“A little drop of spirits, master, if it’s all the same,” replied +Blathers. “It’s a cold ride from London, ma’am; and I always find that +spirits comes home warmer to the feelings.” + +This interesting communication was addressed to Mrs. Maylie, who +received it very graciously. While it was being conveyed to her, the +doctor slipped out of the room. + +“Ah!” said Mr. Blathers: not holding his wine-glass by the stem, but +grasping the bottom between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand: +and placing it in front of his chest; “I have seen a good many pieces +of business like this, in my time, ladies.” + +“That crack down in the back lane at Edmonton, Blathers,” said Mr. +Duff, assisting his colleague’s memory. + +“That was something in this way, warn’t it?” rejoined Mr. Blathers; +“that was done by Conkey Chickweed, that was.” + +“You always gave that to him” replied Duff. “It was the Family Pet, I +tell you. Conkey hadn’t any more to do with it than I had.” + +“Get out!” retorted Mr. Blathers; “I know better. Do you mind that time +when Conkey was robbed of his money, though? What a start that was! +Better than any novel-book _I_ ever see!” + +“What was that?” inquired Rose: anxious to encourage any symptoms of +good-humour in the unwelcome visitors. + +“It was a robbery, miss, that hardly anybody would have been down +upon,” said Blathers. “This here Conkey Chickweed—” + +“Conkey means Nosey, ma’am,” interposed Duff. + +“Of course the lady knows that, don’t she?” demanded Mr. Blathers. +“Always interrupting, you are, partner! This here Conkey Chickweed, +miss, kept a public-house over Battlebridge way, and he had a cellar, +where a good many young lords went to see cock-fighting, and +badger-drawing, and that; and a wery intellectual manner the sports was +conducted in, for I’ve seen ’em off’en. He warn’t one of the family, at +that time; and one night he was robbed of three hundred and +twenty-seven guineas in a canvas bag, that was stole out of his bedroom +in the dead of night, by a tall man with a black patch over his eye, +who had concealed himself under the bed, and after committing the +robbery, jumped slap out of window: which was only a story high. He was +wery quick about it. But Conkey was quick, too; for he fired a +blunderbuss arter him, and roused the neighbourhood. They set up a +hue-and-cry, directly, and when they came to look about ’em, found that +Conkey had hit the robber; for there was traces of blood, all the way +to some palings a good distance off; and there they lost ’em. However, +he had made off with the blunt; and, consequently, the name of Mr. +Chickweed, licensed witler, appeared in the Gazette among the other +bankrupts; and all manner of benefits and subscriptions, and I don’t +know what all, was got up for the poor man, who was in a wery low state +of mind about his loss, and went up and down the streets, for three or +four days, a pulling his hair off in such a desperate manner that many +people was afraid he might be going to make away with himself. One day +he came up to the office, all in a hurry, and had a private interview +with the magistrate, who, after a deal of talk, rings the bell, and +orders Jem Spyers in (Jem was a active officer), and tells him to go +and assist Mr. Chickweed in apprehending the man as robbed his house. +‘I see him, Spyers,’ said Chickweed, ‘pass my house yesterday morning,’ +‘Why didn’t you up, and collar him!’ says Spyers. ‘I was so struck all +of a heap, that you might have fractured my skull with a toothpick,’ +says the poor man; ‘but we’re sure to have him; for between ten and +eleven o’clock at night he passed again.’ Spyers no sooner heard this, +than he put some clean linen and a comb, in his pocket, in case he +should have to stop a day or two; and away he goes, and sets himself +down at one of the public-house windows behind the little red curtain, +with his hat on, all ready to bolt out, at a moment’s notice. He was +smoking his pipe here, late at night, when all of a sudden Chickweed +roars out, ‘Here he is! Stop thief! Murder!’ Jem Spyers dashes out; and +there he sees Chickweed, a-tearing down the street full cry. Away goes +Spyers; on goes Chickweed; round turns the people; everybody roars out, +‘Thieves!’ and Chickweed himself keeps on shouting, all the time, like +mad. Spyers loses sight of him a minute as he turns a corner; shoots +round; sees a little crowd; dives in; ‘Which is the man?’ ‘D—me!’ says +Chickweed, ‘I’ve lost him again!’ It was a remarkable occurrence, but +he warn’t to be seen nowhere, so they went back to the public-house. +Next morning, Spyers took his old place, and looked out, from behind +the curtain, for a tall man with a black patch over his eye, till his +own two eyes ached again. At last, he couldn’t help shutting ’em, to +ease ’em a minute; and the very moment he did so, he hears Chickweed +a-roaring out, ‘Here he is!’ Off he starts once more, with Chickweed +half-way down the street ahead of him; and after twice as long a run as +the yesterday’s one, the man’s lost again! This was done, once or twice +more, till one-half the neighbours gave out that Mr. Chickweed had been +robbed by the devil, who was playing tricks with him arterwards; and +the other half, that poor Mr. Chickweed had gone mad with grief.” + +“What did Jem Spyers say?” inquired the doctor; who had returned to the +room shortly after the commencement of the story. + +“Jem Spyers,” resumed the officer, “for a long time said nothing at +all, and listened to everything without seeming to, which showed he +understood his business. But, one morning, he walked into the bar, and +taking out his snuffbox, says ‘Chickweed, I’ve found out who done this +here robbery.’ ‘Have you?’ said Chickweed. ‘Oh, my dear Spyers, only +let me have wengeance, and I shall die contented! Oh, my dear Spyers, +where is the villain!’ ‘Come!’ said Spyers, offering him a pinch of +snuff, ‘none of that gammon! You did it yourself.’ So he had; and a +good bit of money he had made by it, too; and nobody would never have +found it out, if he hadn’t been so precious anxious to keep up +appearances!” said Mr. Blathers, putting down his wine-glass, and +clinking the handcuffs together. + +“Very curious, indeed,” observed the doctor. “Now, if you please, you +can walk upstairs.” + +“If _you_ please, sir,” returned Mr. Blathers. Closely following Mr. +Losberne, the two officers ascended to Oliver’s bedroom; Mr. Giles +preceding the party, with a lighted candle. + +Oliver had been dozing; but looked worse, and was more feverish than he +had appeared yet. Being assisted by the doctor, he managed to sit up in +bed for a minute or so; and looked at the strangers without at all +understanding what was going forward—in fact, without seeming to +recollect where he was, or what had been passing. + +“This,” said Mr. Losberne, speaking softly, but with great vehemence +notwithstanding, “this is the lad, who, being accidently wounded by a +spring-gun in some boyish trespass on Mr. What-d’ ye-call-him’s +grounds, at the back here, comes to the house for assistance this +morning, and is immediately laid hold of and maltreated, by that +ingenious gentleman with the candle in his hand: who has placed his +life in considerable danger, as I can professionally certify.” + +Messrs. Blathers and Duff looked at Mr. Giles, as he was thus +recommended to their notice. The bewildered butler gazed from them +towards Oliver, and from Oliver towards Mr. Losberne, with a most +ludicrous mixture of fear and perplexity. + +“You don’t mean to deny that, I suppose?” said the doctor, laying +Oliver gently down again. + +“It was all done for the—for the best, sir,” answered Giles. “I am sure +I thought it was the boy, or I wouldn’t have meddled with him. I am not +of an inhuman disposition, sir.” + +“Thought it was what boy?” inquired the senior officer. + +“The housebreaker’s boy, sir!” replied Giles. “They—they certainly had +a boy.” + +“Well? Do you think so now?” inquired Blathers. + +“Think what, now?” replied Giles, looking vacantly at his questioner. + +“Think it’s the same boy, Stupid-head?” rejoined Blathers, impatiently. + +“I don’t know; I really don’t know,” said Giles, with a rueful +countenance. “I couldn’t swear to him.” + +“What do you think?” asked Mr. Blathers. + +“I don’t know what to think,” replied poor Giles. “I don’t think it is +the boy; indeed, I’m almost certain that it isn’t. You know it can’t +be.” + +“Has this man been a-drinking, sir?” inquired Blathers, turning to the +doctor. + +“What a precious muddle-headed chap you are!” said Duff, addressing Mr. +Giles, with supreme contempt. + +Mr. Losberne had been feeling the patient’s pulse during this short +dialogue; but he now rose from the chair by the bedside, and remarked, +that if the officers had any doubts upon the subject, they would +perhaps like to step into the next room, and have Brittles before them. + +Acting upon this suggestion, they adjourned to a neighbouring +apartment, where Mr. Brittles, being called in, involved himself and +his respected superior in such a wonderful maze of fresh contradictions +and impossibilities, as tended to throw no particular light on +anything, but the fact of his own strong mystification; except, indeed, +his declarations that he shouldn’t know the real boy, if he were put +before him that instant; that he had only taken Oliver to be he, +because Mr. Giles had said he was; and that Mr. Giles had, five minutes +previously, admitted in the kitchen, that he began to be very much +afraid he had been a little too hasty. + +Among other ingenious surmises, the question was then raised, whether +Mr. Giles had really hit anybody; and upon examination of the fellow +pistol to that which he had fired, it turned out to have no more +destructive loading than gunpowder and brown paper: a discovery which +made a considerable impression on everybody but the doctor, who had +drawn the ball about ten minutes before. Upon no one, however, did it +make a greater impression than on Mr. Giles himself; who, after +labouring, for some hours, under the fear of having mortally wounded a +fellow-creature, eagerly caught at this new idea, and favoured it to +the utmost. Finally, the officers, without troubling themselves very +much about Oliver, left the Chertsey constable in the house, and took +up their rest for that night in the town; promising to return the next +morning. + +With the next morning, there came a rumour, that two men and a boy were +in the cage at Kingston, who had been apprehended over night under +suspicious circumstances; and to Kingston Messrs. Blathers and Duff +journeyed accordingly. The suspicious circumstances, however, resolving +themselves, on investigation, into the one fact, that they had been +discovered sleeping under a haystack; which, although a great crime, is +only punishable by imprisonment, and is, in the merciful eye of the +English law, and its comprehensive love of all the King’s subjects, +held to be no satisfactory proof, in the absence of all other evidence, +that the sleeper, or sleepers, have committed burglary accompanied with +violence, and have therefore rendered themselves liable to the +punishment of death; Messrs. Blathers and Duff came back again, as wise +as they went. + +In short, after some more examination, and a great deal more +conversation, a neighbouring magistrate was readily induced to take the +joint bail of Mrs. Maylie and Mr. Losberne for Oliver’s appearance if +he should ever be called upon; and Blathers and Duff, being rewarded +with a couple of guineas, returned to town with divided opinions on the +subject of their expedition: the latter gentleman on a mature +consideration of all the circumstances, inclining to the belief that +the burglarious attempt had originated with the Family Pet; and the +former being equally disposed to concede the full merit of it to the +great Mr. Conkey Chickweed. + +Meanwhile, Oliver gradually throve and prospered under the united care +of Mrs. Maylie, Rose, and the kind-hearted Mr. Losberne. If fervent +prayers, gushing from hearts overcharged with gratitude, be heard in +heaven—and if they be not, what prayers are!—the blessings which the +orphan child called down upon them, sunk into their souls, diffusing +peace and happiness. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXII. +OF THE HAPPY LIFE OLIVER BEGAN TO LEAD WITH HIS KIND FRIENDS + + +Oliver’s ailings were neither slight nor few. In addition to the pain +and delay attendant on a broken limb, his exposure to the wet and cold +had brought on fever and ague: which hung about him for many weeks, and +reduced him sadly. But, at length, he began, by slow degrees, to get +better, and to be able to say sometimes, in a few tearful words, how +deeply he felt the goodness of the two sweet ladies, and how ardently +he hoped that when he grew strong and well again, he could do something +to show his gratitude; only something, which would let them see the +love and duty with which his breast was full; something, however +slight, which would prove to them that their gentle kindness had not +been cast away; but that the poor boy whom their charity had rescued +from misery, or death, was eager to serve them with his whole heart and +soul. + +“Poor fellow!” said Rose, when Oliver had been one day feebly +endeavouring to utter the words of thankfulness that rose to his pale +lips; “you shall have many opportunities of serving us, if you will. We +are going into the country, and my aunt intends that you shall +accompany us. The quiet place, the pure air, and all the pleasure and +beauties of spring, will restore you in a few days. We will employ you +in a hundred ways, when you can bear the trouble.” + +“The trouble!” cried Oliver. “Oh! dear lady, if I could but work for +you; if I could only give you pleasure by watering your flowers, or +watching your birds, or running up and down the whole day long, to make +you happy; what would I give to do it!” + +“You shall give nothing at all,” said Miss Maylie, smiling; “for, as I +told you before, we shall employ you in a hundred ways; and if you only +take half the trouble to please us, that you promise now, you will make +me very happy indeed.” + +“Happy, ma’am!” cried Oliver; “how kind of you to say so!” + +“You will make me happier than I can tell you,” replied the young lady. +“To think that my dear good aunt should have been the means of rescuing +any one from such sad misery as you have described to us, would be an +unspeakable pleasure to me; but to know that the object of her goodness +and compassion was sincerely grateful and attached, in consequence, +would delight me, more than you can well imagine. Do you understand +me?” she inquired, watching Oliver’s thoughtful face. + +“Oh yes, ma’am, yes!” replied Oliver eagerly; “but I was thinking that +I am ungrateful now.” + +“To whom?” inquired the young lady. + +“To the kind gentleman, and the dear old nurse, who took so much care +of me before,” rejoined Oliver. “If they knew how happy I am, they +would be pleased, I am sure.” + +“I am sure they would,” rejoined Oliver’s benefactress; “and Mr. +Losberne has already been kind enough to promise that when you are well +enough to bear the journey, he will carry you to see them.” + +“Has he, ma’am?” cried Oliver, his face brightening with pleasure. “I +don’t know what I shall do for joy when I see their kind faces once +again!” + +In a short time Oliver was sufficiently recovered to undergo the +fatigue of this expedition. One morning he and Mr. Losberne set out, +accordingly, in a little carriage which belonged to Mrs. Maylie. When +they came to Chertsey Bridge, Oliver turned very pale, and uttered a +loud exclamation. + +“What’s the matter with the boy?” cried the doctor, as usual, all in a +bustle. “Do you see anything—hear anything—feel anything—eh?” + +“That, sir,” cried Oliver, pointing out of the carriage window. “That +house!” + +“Yes; well, what of it? Stop coachman. Pull up here,” cried the doctor. +“What of the house, my man; eh?” + +“The thieves—the house they took me to!” whispered Oliver. + +“The devil it is!” cried the doctor. “Hallo, there! let me out!” + +But, before the coachman could dismount from his box, he had tumbled +out of the coach, by some means or other; and, running down to the +deserted tenement, began kicking at the door like a madman. + +“Halloa?” said a little ugly hump-backed man: opening the door so +suddenly, that the doctor, from the very impetus of his last kick, +nearly fell forward into the passage. “What’s the matter here?” + +“Matter!” exclaimed the other, collaring him, without a moment’s +reflection. “A good deal. Robbery is the matter.” + +“There’ll be Murder the matter, too,” replied the hump-backed man, +coolly, “if you don’t take your hands off. Do you hear me?” + +“I hear you,” said the doctor, giving his captive a hearty shake. + +“Where’s—confound the fellow, what’s his rascally name—Sikes; that’s +it. Where’s Sikes, you thief?” + +The hump-backed man stared, as if in excess of amazement and +indignation; then, twisting himself, dexterously, from the doctor’s +grasp, growled forth a volley of horrid oaths, and retired into the +house. Before he could shut the door, however, the doctor had passed +into the parlour, without a word of parley. + +He looked anxiously round; not an article of furniture; not a vestige +of anything, animate or inanimate; not even the position of the +cupboards; answered Oliver’s description! + +“Now!” said the hump-backed man, who had watched him keenly, “what do +you mean by coming into my house, in this violent way? Do you want to +rob me, or to murder me? Which is it?” + +“Did you ever know a man come out to do either, in a chariot and pair, +you ridiculous old vampire?” said the irritable doctor. + +“What do you want, then?” demanded the hunchback. “Will you take +yourself off, before I do you a mischief? Curse you!” + +“As soon as I think proper,” said Mr. Losberne, looking into the other +parlour; which, like the first, bore no resemblance whatever to +Oliver’s account of it. “I shall find you out, some day, my friend.” + +“Will you?” sneered the ill-favoured cripple. “If you ever want me, I’m +here. I haven’t lived here mad and all alone, for five-and-twenty +years, to be scared by you. You shall pay for this; you shall pay for +this.” And so saying, the mis-shapen little demon set up a yell, and +danced upon the ground, as if wild with rage. + +“Stupid enough, this,” muttered the doctor to himself; “the boy must +have made a mistake. Here! Put that in your pocket, and shut yourself +up again.” With these words he flung the hunchback a piece of money, +and returned to the carriage. + +The man followed to the chariot door, uttering the wildest imprecations +and curses all the way; but as Mr. Losberne turned to speak to the +driver, he looked into the carriage, and eyed Oliver for an instant +with a glance so sharp and fierce and at the same time so furious and +vindictive, that, waking or sleeping, he could not forget it for months +afterwards. He continued to utter the most fearful imprecations, until +the driver had resumed his seat; and when they were once more on their +way, they could see him some distance behind: beating his feet upon the +ground, and tearing his hair, in transports of real or pretended rage. + +“I am an ass!” said the doctor, after a long silence. “Did you know +that before, Oliver?” + +“No, sir.” + +“Then don’t forget it another time.” + +“An ass,” said the doctor again, after a further silence of some +minutes. “Even if it had been the right place, and the right fellows +had been there, what could I have done, single-handed? And if I had had +assistance, I see no good that I should have done, except leading to my +own exposure, and an unavoidable statement of the manner in which I +have hushed up this business. That would have served me right, though. +I am always involving myself in some scrape or other, by acting on +impulse. It might have done me good.” + +Now, the fact was that the excellent doctor had never acted upon +anything but impulse all through his life, and it was no bad compliment +to the nature of the impulses which governed him, that so far from +being involved in any peculiar troubles or misfortunes, he had the +warmest respect and esteem of all who knew him. If the truth must be +told, he was a little out of temper, for a minute or two, at being +disappointed in procuring corroborative evidence of Oliver’s story on +the very first occasion on which he had a chance of obtaining any. He +soon came round again, however; and finding that Oliver’s replies to +his questions, were still as straightforward and consistent, and still +delivered with as much apparent sincerity and truth, as they had ever +been, he made up his mind to attach full credence to them, from that +time forth. + +As Oliver knew the name of the street in which Mr. Brownlow resided, +they were enabled to drive straight thither. When the coach turned into +it, his heart beat so violently, that he could scarcely draw his +breath. + +“Now, my boy, which house is it?” inquired Mr. Losberne. + +“That! That!” replied Oliver, pointing eagerly out of the window. “The +white house. Oh! make haste! Pray make haste! I feel as if I should +die: it makes me tremble so.” + +“Come, come!” said the good doctor, patting him on the shoulder. “You +will see them directly, and they will be overjoyed to find you safe and +well.” + +“Oh! I hope so!” cried Oliver. “They were so good to me; so very, very +good to me.” + +The coach rolled on. It stopped. No; that was the wrong house; the next +door. It went on a few paces, and stopped again. Oliver looked up at +the windows, with tears of happy expectation coursing down his face. + +Alas! the white house was empty, and there was a bill in the window. +“To Let.” + +“Knock at the next door,” cried Mr. Losberne, taking Oliver’s arm in +his. “What has become of Mr. Brownlow, who used to live in the +adjoining house, do you know?” + +The servant did not know; but would go and inquire. She presently +returned, and said, that Mr. Brownlow had sold off his goods, and gone +to the West Indies, six weeks before. Oliver clasped his hands, and +sank feebly backward. + +“Has his housekeeper gone too?” inquired Mr. Losberne, after a moment’s +pause. + +“Yes, sir”; replied the servant. “The old gentleman, the housekeeper, +and a gentleman who was a friend of Mr. Brownlow’s, all went together.” + +“Then turn towards home again,” said Mr. Losberne to the driver; “and +don’t stop to bait the horses, till you get out of this confounded +London!” + +“The book-stall keeper, sir?” said Oliver. “I know the way there. See +him, pray, sir! Do see him!” + +“My poor boy, this is disappointment enough for one day,” said the +doctor. “Quite enough for both of us. If we go to the book-stall +keeper’s, we shall certainly find that he is dead, or has set his house +on fire, or run away. No; home again straight!” And in obedience to the +doctor’s impulse, home they went. + +This bitter disappointment caused Oliver much sorrow and grief, even in +the midst of his happiness; for he had pleased himself, many times +during his illness, with thinking of all that Mr. Brownlow and Mrs. +Bedwin would say to him: and what delight it would be to tell them how +many long days and nights he had passed in reflecting on what they had +done for him, and in bewailing his cruel separation from them. The hope +of eventually clearing himself with them, too, and explaining how he +had been forced away, had buoyed him up, and sustained him, under many +of his recent trials; and now, the idea that they should have gone so +far, and carried with them the belief that he was an impostor and a +robber—a belief which might remain uncontradicted to his dying day—was +almost more than he could bear. + +The circumstance occasioned no alteration, however, in the behaviour of +his benefactors. After another fortnight, when the fine warm weather +had fairly begun, and every tree and flower was putting forth its young +leaves and rich blossoms, they made preparations for quitting the house +at Chertsey, for some months. + +Sending the plate, which had so excited Fagin’s cupidity, to the +banker’s; and leaving Giles and another servant in care of the house, +they departed to a cottage at some distance in the country, and took +Oliver with them. + +Who can describe the pleasure and delight, the peace of mind and soft +tranquillity, the sickly boy felt in the balmy air, and among the green +hills and rich woods, of an inland village! Who can tell how scenes of +peace and quietude sink into the minds of pain-worn dwellers in close +and noisy places, and carry their own freshness, deep into their jaded +hearts! Men who have lived in crowded, pent-up streets, through lives +of toil, and who have never wished for change; men, to whom custom has +indeed been second nature, and who have come almost to love each brick +and stone that formed the narrow boundaries of their daily walks; even +they, with the hand of death upon them, have been known to yearn at +last for one short glimpse of Nature’s face; and, carried far from the +scenes of their old pains and pleasures, have seemed to pass at once +into a new state of being. Crawling forth, from day to day, to some +green sunny spot, they have had such memories wakened up within them by +the sight of the sky, and hill and plain, and glistening water, that a +foretaste of heaven itself has soothed their quick decline, and they +have sunk into their tombs, as peacefully as the sun whose setting they +watched from their lonely chamber window but a few hours before, faded +from their dim and feeble sight! The memories which peaceful country +scenes call up, are not of this world, nor of its thoughts and hopes. +Their gentle influence may teach us how to weave fresh garlands for the +graves of those we loved: may purify our thoughts, and bear down before +it old enmity and hatred; but beneath all this, there lingers, in the +least reflective mind, a vague and half-formed consciousness of having +held such feelings long before, in some remote and distant time, which +calls up solemn thoughts of distant times to come, and bends down pride +and worldliness beneath it. + +It was a lovely spot to which they repaired. Oliver, whose days had +been spent among squalid crowds, and in the midst of noise and +brawling, seemed to enter on a new existence there. The rose and +honeysuckle clung to the cottage walls; the ivy crept round the trunks +of the trees; and the garden-flowers perfumed the air with delicious +odours. Hard by, was a little churchyard; not crowded with tall +unsightly gravestones, but full of humble mounds, covered with fresh +turf and moss: beneath which, the old people of the village lay at +rest. Oliver often wandered here; and, thinking of the wretched grave +in which his mother lay, would sometimes sit him down and sob unseen; +but, when he raised his eyes to the deep sky overhead, he would cease +to think of her as lying in the ground, and would weep for her, sadly, +but without pain. + +It was a happy time. The days were peaceful and serene; the nights +brought with them neither fear nor care; no languishing in a wretched +prison, or associating with wretched men; nothing but pleasant and +happy thoughts. Every morning he went to a white-headed old gentleman, +who lived near the little church: who taught him to read better, and to +write: and who spoke so kindly, and took such pains, that Oliver could +never try enough to please him. Then, he would walk with Mrs. Maylie +and Rose, and hear them talk of books; or perhaps sit near them, in +some shady place, and listen whilst the young lady read: which he could +have done, until it grew too dark to see the letters. Then, he had his +own lesson for the next day to prepare; and at this, he would work +hard, in a little room which looked into the garden, till evening came +slowly on, when the ladies would walk out again, and he with them: +listening with such pleasure to all they said: and so happy if they +wanted a flower that he could climb to reach, or had forgotten anything +he could run to fetch: that he could never be quick enough about it. +When it became quite dark, and they returned home, the young lady would +sit down to the piano, and play some pleasant air, or sing, in a low +and gentle voice, some old song which it pleased her aunt to hear. +There would be no candles lighted at such times as these; and Oliver +would sit by one of the windows, listening to the sweet music, in a +perfect rapture. + +And when Sunday came, how differently the day was spent, from any way +in which he had ever spent it yet! and how happily too; like all the +other days in that most happy time! There was the little church, in the +morning, with the green leaves fluttering at the windows: the birds +singing without: and the sweet-smelling air stealing in at the low +porch, and filling the homely building with its fragrance. The poor +people were so neat and clean, and knelt so reverently in prayer, that +it seemed a pleasure, not a tedious duty, their assembling there +together; and though the singing might be rude, it was real, and +sounded more musical (to Oliver’s ears at least) than any he had ever +heard in church before. Then, there were the walks as usual, and many +calls at the clean houses of the labouring men; and at night, Oliver +read a chapter or two from the Bible, which he had been studying all +the week, and in the performance of which duty he felt more proud and +pleased, than if he had been the clergyman himself. + +In the morning, Oliver would be a-foot by six o’clock, roaming the +fields, and plundering the hedges, far and wide, for nosegays of wild +flowers, with which he would return laden, home; and which it took +great care and consideration to arrange, to the best advantage, for the +embellishment of the breakfast-table. There was fresh groundsel, too, +for Miss Maylie’s birds, with which Oliver, who had been studying the +subject under the able tuition of the village clerk, would decorate the +cages, in the most approved taste. When the birds were made all spruce +and smart for the day, there was usually some little commission of +charity to execute in the village; or, failing that, there was rare +cricket-playing, sometimes, on the green; or, failing that, there was +always something to do in the garden, or about the plants, to which +Oliver (who had studied this science also, under the same master, who +was a gardener by trade,) applied himself with hearty good-will, until +Miss Rose made her appearance: when there were a thousand commendations +to be bestowed on all he had done. + +So three months glided away; three months which, in the life of the +most blessed and favoured of mortals, might have been unmingled +happiness, and which, in Oliver’s were true felicity. With the purest +and most amiable generosity on one side; and the truest, warmest, +soul-felt gratitude on the other; it is no wonder that, by the end of +that short time, Oliver Twist had become completely domesticated with +the old lady and her niece, and that the fervent attachment of his +young and sensitive heart, was repaid by their pride in, and attachment +to, himself. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIII. +WHEREIN THE HAPPINESS OF OLIVER AND HIS FRIENDS, EXPERIENCES A SUDDEN +CHECK + + +Spring flew swiftly by, and summer came. If the village had been +beautiful at first it was now in the full glow and luxuriance of its +richness. The great trees, which had looked shrunken and bare in the +earlier months, had now burst into strong life and health; and +stretching forth their green arms over the thirsty ground, converted +open and naked spots into choice nooks, where was a deep and pleasant +shade from which to look upon the wide prospect, steeped in sunshine, +which lay stretched beyond. The earth had donned her mantle of +brightest green; and shed her richest perfumes abroad. It was the prime +and vigour of the year; all things were glad and flourishing. + +Still, the same quiet life went on at the little cottage, and the same +cheerful serenity prevailed among its inmates. Oliver had long since +grown stout and healthy; but health or sickness made no difference in +his warm feelings of a great many people. He was still the same gentle, +attached, affectionate creature that he had been when pain and +suffering had wasted his strength, and when he was dependent for every +slight attention, and comfort on those who tended him. + +One beautiful night, when they had taken a longer walk than was +customary with them: for the day had been unusually warm, and there was +a brilliant moon, and a light wind had sprung up, which was unusually +refreshing. Rose had been in high spirits, too, and they had walked on, +in merry conversation, until they had far exceeded their ordinary +bounds. Mrs. Maylie being fatigued, they returned more slowly home. The +young lady merely throwing off her simple bonnet, sat down to the piano +as usual. After running abstractedly over the keys for a few minutes, +she fell into a low and very solemn air; and as she played it, they +heard a sound as if she were weeping. + +“Rose, my dear!” said the elder lady. + +Rose made no reply, but played a little quicker, as though the words +had roused her from some painful thoughts. + +“Rose, my love!” cried Mrs. Maylie, rising hastily, and bending over +her. “What is this? In tears! My dear child, what distresses you?” + +“Nothing, aunt; nothing,” replied the young lady. “I don’t know what it +is; I can’t describe it; but I feel—” + +“Not ill, my love?” interposed Mrs. Maylie. + +“No, no! Oh, not ill!” replied Rose: shuddering as though some deadly +chillness were passing over her, while she spoke; “I shall be better +presently. Close the window, pray!” + +Oliver hastened to comply with her request. The young lady, making an +effort to recover her cheerfulness, strove to play some livelier tune; +but her fingers dropped powerless over the keys. Covering her face with +her hands, she sank upon a sofa, and gave vent to the tears which she +was now unable to repress. + +“My child!” said the elderly lady, folding her arms about her, “I never +saw you so before.” + +“I would not alarm you if I could avoid it,” rejoined Rose; “but indeed +I have tried very hard, and cannot help this. I fear I _am_ ill, aunt.” + +She was, indeed; for, when candles were brought, they saw that in the +very short time which had elapsed since their return home, the hue of +her countenance had changed to a marble whiteness. Its expression had +lost nothing of its beauty; but it was changed; and there was an +anxious haggard look about the gentle face, which it had never worn +before. Another minute, and it was suffused with a crimson flush: and a +heavy wildness came over the soft blue eye. Again this disappeared, +like the shadow thrown by a passing cloud; and she was once more deadly +pale. + +Oliver, who watched the old lady anxiously, observed that she was +alarmed by these appearances; and so in truth, was he; but seeing that +she affected to make light of them, he endeavoured to do the same, and +they so far succeeded, that when Rose was persuaded by her aunt to +retire for the night, she was in better spirits; and appeared even in +better health: assuring them that she felt certain she should rise in +the morning, quite well. + +“I hope,” said Oliver, when Mrs. Maylie returned, “that nothing is the +matter? She don’t look well tonight, but—” + +The old lady motioned to him not to speak; and sitting herself down in +a dark corner of the room, remained silent for some time. At length, +she said, in a trembling voice: + +“I hope not, Oliver. I have been very happy with her for some years: +too happy, perhaps. It may be time that I should meet with some +misfortune; but I hope it is not this.” + +“What?” inquired Oliver. + +“The heavy blow,” said the old lady, “of losing the dear girl who has +so long been my comfort and happiness.” + +“Oh! God forbid!” exclaimed Oliver, hastily. + +“Amen to that, my child!” said the old lady, wringing her hands. + +“Surely there is no danger of anything so dreadful?” said Oliver. “Two +hours ago, she was quite well.” + +“She is very ill now,” rejoined Mrs. Maylie; “and will be worse, I am +sure. My dear, dear Rose! Oh, what shall I do without her!” + +She gave way to such great grief, that Oliver, suppressing his own +emotion, ventured to remonstrate with her; and to beg, earnestly, that, +for the sake of the dear young lady herself, she would be more calm. + +“And consider, ma’am,” said Oliver, as the tears forced themselves into +his eyes, despite of his efforts to the contrary. “Oh! consider how +young and good she is, and what pleasure and comfort she gives to all +about her. I am sure—certain—quite certain—that, for your sake, who are +so good yourself; and for her own; and for the sake of all she makes so +happy; she will not die. Heaven will never let her die so young.” + +“Hush!” said Mrs. Maylie, laying her hand on Oliver’s head. “You think +like a child, poor boy. But you teach me my duty, notwithstanding. I +had forgotten it for a moment, Oliver, but I hope I may be pardoned, +for I am old, and have seen enough of illness and death to know the +agony of separation from the objects of our love. I have seen enough, +too, to know that it is not always the youngest and best who are spared +to those that love them; but this should give us comfort in our sorrow; +for Heaven is just; and such things teach us, impressively, that there +is a brighter world than this; and that the passage to it is speedy. +God’s will be done! I love her; and He knows how well!” + +Oliver was surprised to see that as Mrs. Maylie said these words, she +checked her lamentations as though by one effort; and drawing herself +up as she spoke, became composed and firm. He was still more astonished +to find that this firmness lasted; and that, under all the care and +watching which ensued, Mrs. Maylie was ever ready and collected: +performing all the duties which had devolved upon her, steadily, and, +to all external appearances, even cheerfully. But he was young, and did +not know what strong minds are capable of, under trying circumstances. +How should he, when their possessors so seldom know themselves? + +An anxious night ensued. When morning came, Mrs. Maylie’s predictions +were but too well verified. Rose was in the first stage of a high and +dangerous fever. + +“We must be active, Oliver, and not give way to useless grief,” said +Mrs. Maylie, laying her finger on her lip, as she looked steadily into +his face; “this letter must be sent, with all possible expedition, to +Mr. Losberne. It must be carried to the market-town: which is not more +than four miles off, by the footpath across the field: and thence +dispatched, by an express on horseback, straight to Chertsey. The +people at the inn will undertake to do this: and I can trust to you to +see it done, I know.” + +Oliver could make no reply, but looked his anxiety to be gone at once. + +“Here is another letter,” said Mrs. Maylie, pausing to reflect; “but +whether to send it now, or wait until I see how Rose goes on, I +scarcely know. I would not forward it, unless I feared the worst.” + +“Is it for Chertsey, too, ma’am?” inquired Oliver; impatient to execute +his commission, and holding out his trembling hand for the letter. + +“No,” replied the old lady, giving it to him mechanically. Oliver +glanced at it, and saw that it was directed to Harry Maylie, Esquire, +at some great lord’s house in the country; where, he could not make +out. + +“Shall it go, ma’am?” asked Oliver, looking up, impatiently. + +“I think not,” replied Mrs. Maylie, taking it back. “I will wait until +tomorrow.” + +With these words, she gave Oliver her purse, and he started off, +without more delay, at the greatest speed he could muster. + +Swiftly he ran across the fields, and down the little lanes which +sometimes divided them: now almost hidden by the high corn on either +side, and now emerging on an open field, where the mowers and haymakers +were busy at their work: nor did he stop once, save now and then, for a +few seconds, to recover breath, until he came, in a great heat, and +covered with dust, on the little market-place of the market-town. + +Here he paused, and looked about for the inn. There were a white bank, +and a red brewery, and a yellow town-hall; and in one corner there was +a large house, with all the wood about it painted green: before which +was the sign of “The George.” To this he hastened, as soon as it caught +his eye. + +He spoke to a postboy who was dozing under the gateway; and who, after +hearing what he wanted, referred him to the ostler; who after hearing +all he had to say again, referred him to the landlord; who was a tall +gentleman in a blue neckcloth, a white hat, drab breeches, and boots +with tops to match, leaning against a pump by the stable-door, picking +his teeth with a silver toothpick. + +This gentleman walked with much deliberation into the bar to make out +the bill: which took a long time making out: and after it was ready, +and paid, a horse had to be saddled, and a man to be dressed, which +took up ten good minutes more. Meanwhile Oliver was in such a desperate +state of impatience and anxiety, that he felt as if he could have +jumped upon the horse himself, and galloped away, full tear, to the +next stage. At length, all was ready; and the little parcel having been +handed up, with many injunctions and entreaties for its speedy +delivery, the man set spurs to his horse, and rattling over the uneven +paving of the market-place, was out of the town, and galloping along +the turnpike-road, in a couple of minutes. + +As it was something to feel certain that assistance was sent for, and +that no time had been lost, Oliver hurried up the inn-yard, with a +somewhat lighter heart. He was turning out of the gateway when he +accidently stumbled against a tall man wrapped in a cloak, who was at +that moment coming out of the inn door. + +“Hah!” cried the man, fixing his eyes on Oliver, and suddenly +recoiling. “What the devil’s this?” + +“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Oliver; “I was in a great hurry to get +home, and didn’t see you were coming.” + +“Death!” muttered the man to himself, glaring at the boy with his large +dark eyes. “Who would have thought it! Grind him to ashes! He’d start +up from a stone coffin, to come in my way!” + +“I am sorry,” stammered Oliver, confused by the strange man’s wild +look. “I hope I have not hurt you!” + +“Rot you!” murmured the man, in a horrible passion; between his +clenched teeth; “if I had only had the courage to say the word, I might +have been free of you in a night. Curses on your head, and black death +on your heart, you imp! What are you doing here?” + +The man shook his fist, as he uttered these words incoherently. He +advanced towards Oliver, as if with the intention of aiming a blow at +him, but fell violently on the ground: writhing and foaming, in a fit. + +Oliver gazed, for a moment, at the struggles of the madman (for such he +supposed him to be); and then darted into the house for help. Having +seen him safely carried into the hotel, he turned his face homewards, +running as fast as he could, to make up for lost time: and recalling +with a great deal of astonishment and some fear, the extraordinary +behaviour of the person from whom he had just parted. + +The circumstance did not dwell in his recollection long, however: for +when he reached the cottage, there was enough to occupy his mind, and +to drive all considerations of self completely from his memory. + +Rose Maylie had rapidly grown worse; before mid-night she was +delirious. A medical practitioner, who resided on the spot, was in +constant attendance upon her; and after first seeing the patient, he +had taken Mrs. Maylie aside, and pronounced her disorder to be one of a +most alarming nature. “In fact,” he said, “it would be little short of +a miracle, if she recovered.” + +How often did Oliver start from his bed that night, and stealing out, +with noiseless footstep, to the staircase, listen for the slightest +sound from the sick chamber! How often did a tremble shake his frame, +and cold drops of terror start upon his brow, when a sudden trampling +of feet caused him to fear that something too dreadful to think of, had +even then occurred! And what had been the fervency of all the prayers +he had ever muttered, compared with those he poured forth, now, in the +agony and passion of his supplication for the life and health of the +gentle creature, who was tottering on the deep grave’s verge! + +Oh! the suspense, the fearful, acute suspense, of standing idly by +while the life of one we dearly love, is trembling in the balance! Oh! +the racking thoughts that crowd upon the mind, and make the heart beat +violently, and the breath come thick, by the force of the images they +conjure up before it; the desperate anxiety _to be doing something_ to +relieve the pain, or lessen the danger, which we have no power to +alleviate; the sinking of soul and spirit, which the sad remembrance of +our helplessness produces; what tortures can equal these; what +reflections or endeavours can, in the full tide and fever of the time, +allay them! + +Morning came; and the little cottage was lonely and still. People spoke +in whispers; anxious faces appeared at the gate, from time to time; +women and children went away in tears. All the livelong day, and for +hours after it had grown dark, Oliver paced softly up and down the +garden, raising his eyes every instant to the sick chamber, and +shuddering to see the darkened window, looking as if death lay +stretched inside. Late that night, Mr. Losberne arrived. “It is hard,” +said the good doctor, turning away as he spoke; “so young; so much +beloved; but there is very little hope.” + +Another morning. The sun shone brightly; as brightly as if it looked +upon no misery or care; and, with every leaf and flower in full bloom +about her; with life, and health, and sounds and sights of joy, +surrounding her on every side: the fair young creature lay, wasting +fast. Oliver crept away to the old churchyard, and sitting down on one +of the green mounds, wept and prayed for her, in silence. + +There was such peace and beauty in the scene; so much of brightness and +mirth in the sunny landscape; such blithesome music in the songs of the +summer birds; such freedom in the rapid flight of the rook, careering +overhead; so much of life and joyousness in all; that, when the boy +raised his aching eyes, and looked about, the thought instinctively +occurred to him, that this was not a time for death; that Rose could +surely never die when humbler things were all so glad and gay; that +graves were for cold and cheerless winter: not for sunlight and +fragrance. He almost thought that shrouds were for the old and +shrunken; and that they never wrapped the young and graceful form in +their ghastly folds. + +A knell from the church bell broke harshly on these youthful thoughts. +Another! Again! It was tolling for the funeral service. A group of +humble mourners entered the gate: wearing white favours; for the corpse +was young. They stood uncovered by a grave; and there was a mother—a +mother once—among the weeping train. But the sun shone brightly, and +the birds sang on. + +Oliver turned homeward, thinking on the many kindnesses he had received +from the young lady, and wishing that the time could come again, that +he might never cease showing her how grateful and attached he was. He +had no cause for self-reproach on the score of neglect, or want of +thought, for he had been devoted to her service; and yet a hundred +little occasions rose up before him, on which he fancied he might have +been more zealous, and more earnest, and wished he had been. We need be +careful how we deal with those about us, when every death carries to +some small circle of survivors, thoughts of so much omitted, and so +little done—of so many things forgotten, and so many more which might +have been repaired! There is no remorse so deep as that which is +unavailing; if we would be spared its tortures, let us remember this, +in time. + +When he reached home Mrs. Maylie was sitting in the little parlour. +Oliver’s heart sank at sight of her; for she had never left the bedside +of her niece; and he trembled to think what change could have driven +her away. He learnt that she had fallen into a deep sleep, from which +she would waken, either to recovery and life, or to bid them farewell, +and die. + +They sat, listening, and afraid to speak, for hours. The untasted meal +was removed, with looks which showed that their thoughts were +elsewhere, they watched the sun as he sank lower and lower, and, at +length, cast over sky and earth those brilliant hues which herald his +departure. Their quick ears caught the sound of an approaching +footstep. They both involuntarily darted to the door, as Mr. Losberne +entered. + +“What of Rose?” cried the old lady. “Tell me at once! I can bear it; +anything but suspense! Oh, tell me! in the name of Heaven!” + +“You must compose yourself,” said the doctor supporting her. “Be calm, +my dear ma’am, pray.” + +“Let me go, in God’s name! My dear child! She is dead! She is dying!” + +“No!” cried the doctor, passionately. “As He is good and merciful, she +will live to bless us all, for years to come.” + +The lady fell upon her knees, and tried to fold her hands together; but +the energy which had supported her so long, fled up to Heaven with her +first thanksgiving; and she sank into the friendly arms which were +extended to receive her. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIV. +CONTAINS SOME INTRODUCTORY PARTICULARS RELATIVE TO A YOUNG GENTLEMAN +WHO NOW ARRIVES UPON THE SCENE; AND A NEW ADVENTURE WHICH HAPPENED TO +OLIVER + + +It was almost too much happiness to bear. Oliver felt stunned and +stupefied by the unexpected intelligence; he could not weep, or speak, +or rest. He had scarcely the power of understanding anything that had +passed, until, after a long ramble in the quiet evening air, a burst of +tears came to his relief, and he seemed to awaken, all at once, to a +full sense of the joyful change that had occurred, and the almost +insupportable load of anguish which had been taken from his breast. + +The night was fast closing in, when he returned homeward: laden with +flowers which he had culled, with peculiar care, for the adornment of +the sick chamber. As he walked briskly along the road, he heard behind +him, the noise of some vehicle, approaching at a furious pace. Looking +round, he saw that it was a post-chaise, driven at great speed; and as +the horses were galloping, and the road was narrow, he stood leaning +against a gate until it should have passed him. + +As it dashed on, Oliver caught a glimpse of a man in a white nightcap, +whose face seemed familiar to him, although his view was so brief that +he could not identify the person. In another second or two, the +nightcap was thrust out of the chaise-window, and a stentorian voice +bellowed to the driver to stop: which he did, as soon as he could pull +up his horses. Then, the nightcap once again appeared: and the same +voice called Oliver by his name. + +“Here!” cried the voice. “Oliver, what’s the news? Miss Rose! Master +O-li-ver!” + +“Is it you, Giles?” cried Oliver, running up to the chaise-door. + +Giles popped out his nightcap again, preparatory to making some reply, +when he was suddenly pulled back by a young gentleman who occupied the +other corner of the chaise, and who eagerly demanded what was the news. + +“In a word!” cried the gentleman, “Better or worse?” + +“Better—much better!” replied Oliver, hastily. + +“Thank Heaven!” exclaimed the gentleman. “You are sure?” + +“Quite, sir,” replied Oliver. “The change took place only a few hours +ago; and Mr. Losberne says, that all danger is at an end.” + +The gentleman said not another word, but, opening the chaise-door, +leaped out, and taking Oliver hurriedly by the arm, led him aside. + +“You are quite certain? There is no possibility of any mistake on your +part, my boy, is there?” demanded the gentleman in a tremulous voice. +“Do not deceive me, by awakening hopes that are not to be fulfilled.” + +“I would not for the world, sir,” replied Oliver. “Indeed you may +believe me. Mr. Losberne’s words were, that she would live to bless us +all for many years to come. I heard him say so.” + +The tears stood in Oliver’s eyes as he recalled the scene which was the +beginning of so much happiness; and the gentleman turned his face away, +and remained silent, for some minutes. Oliver thought he heard him sob, +more than once; but he feared to interrupt him by any fresh remark—for +he could well guess what his feelings were—and so stood apart, feigning +to be occupied with his nosegay. + +All this time, Mr. Giles, with the white nightcap on, had been sitting +on the steps of the chaise, supporting an elbow on each knee, and +wiping his eyes with a blue cotton pocket-handkerchief dotted with +white spots. That the honest fellow had not been feigning emotion, was +abundantly demonstrated by the very red eyes with which he regarded the +young gentleman, when he turned round and addressed him. + +“I think you had better go on to my mother’s in the chaise, Giles,” +said he. “I would rather walk slowly on, so as to gain a little time +before I see her. You can say I am coming.” + +“I beg your pardon, Mr. Harry,” said Giles: giving a final polish to +his ruffled countenance with the handkerchief; “but if you would leave +the postboy to say that, I should be very much obliged to you. It +wouldn’t be proper for the maids to see me in this state, sir; I should +never have any more authority with them if they did.” + +“Well,” rejoined Harry Maylie, smiling, “you can do as you like. Let +him go on with the luggage, if you wish it, and do you follow with us. +Only first exchange that nightcap for some more appropriate covering, +or we shall be taken for madmen.” + +Mr. Giles, reminded of his unbecoming costume, snatched off and +pocketed his nightcap; and substituted a hat, of grave and sober shape, +which he took out of the chaise. This done, the postboy drove off; +Giles, Mr. Maylie, and Oliver, followed at their leisure. + +As they walked along, Oliver glanced from time to time with much +interest and curiosity at the new comer. He seemed about +five-and-twenty years of age, and was of the middle height; his +countenance was frank and handsome; and his demeanor easy and +prepossessing. Notwithstanding the difference between youth and age, he +bore so strong a likeness to the old lady, that Oliver would have had +no great difficulty in imagining their relationship, if he had not +already spoken of her as his mother. + +Mrs. Maylie was anxiously waiting to receive her son when he reached +the cottage. The meeting did not take place without great emotion on +both sides. + +“Mother!” whispered the young man; “why did you not write before?” + +“I did,” replied Mrs. Maylie; “but, on reflection, I determined to keep +back the letter until I had heard Mr. Losberne’s opinion.” + +“But why,” said the young man, “why run the chance of that occurring +which so nearly happened? If Rose had—I cannot utter that word now—if +this illness had terminated differently, how could you ever have +forgiven yourself! How could I ever have know happiness again!” + +“If that _had_ been the case, Harry,” said Mrs. Maylie, “I fear your +happiness would have been effectually blighted, and that your arrival +here, a day sooner or a day later, would have been of very, very little +import.” + +“And who can wonder if it be so, mother?” rejoined the young man; “or +why should I say, _if?_—It is—it is—you know it, mother—you must know +it!” + +“I know that she deserves the best and purest love the heart of man can +offer,” said Mrs. Maylie; “I know that the devotion and affection of +her nature require no ordinary return, but one that shall be deep and +lasting. If I did not feel this, and know, besides, that a changed +behaviour in one she loved would break her heart, I should not feel my +task so difficult of performance, or have to encounter so many +struggles in my own bosom, when I take what seems to me to be the +strict line of duty.” + +“This is unkind, mother,” said Harry. “Do you still suppose that I am a +boy ignorant of my own mind, and mistaking the impulses of my own +soul?” + +“I think, my dear son,” returned Mrs. Maylie, laying her hand upon his +shoulder, “that youth has many generous impulses which do not last; and +that among them are some, which, being gratified, become only the more +fleeting. Above all, I think” said the lady, fixing her eyes on her +son’s face, “that if an enthusiastic, ardent, and ambitious man marry a +wife on whose name there is a stain, which, though it originate in no +fault of hers, may be visited by cold and sordid people upon her, and +upon his children also: and, in exact proportion to his success in the +world, be cast in his teeth, and made the subject of sneers against +him: he may, no matter how generous and good his nature, one day repent +of the connection he formed in early life. And she may have the pain of +knowing that he does so.” + +“Mother,” said the young man, impatiently, “he would be a selfish +brute, unworthy alike of the name of man and of the woman you describe, +who acted thus.” + +“You think so now, Harry,” replied his mother. + +“And ever will!” said the young man. “The mental agony I have suffered, +during the last two days, wrings from me the avowal to you of a passion +which, as you well know, is not one of yesterday, nor one I have +lightly formed. On Rose, sweet, gentle girl! my heart is set, as firmly +as ever heart of man was set on woman. I have no thought, no view, no +hope in life, beyond her; and if you oppose me in this great stake, you +take my peace and happiness in your hands, and cast them to the wind. +Mother, think better of this, and of me, and do not disregard the +happiness of which you seem to think so little.” + +“Harry,” said Mrs. Maylie, “it is because I think so much of warm and +sensitive hearts, that I would spare them from being wounded. But we +have said enough, and more than enough, on this matter, just now.” + +“Let it rest with Rose, then,” interposed Harry. “You will not press +these overstrained opinions of yours, so far, as to throw any obstacle +in my way?” + +“I will not,” rejoined Mrs. Maylie; “but I would have you consider—” + +“I _have_ considered!” was the impatient reply; “Mother, I have +considered, years and years. I have considered, ever since I have been +capable of serious reflection. My feelings remain unchanged, as they +ever will; and why should I suffer the pain of a delay in giving them +vent, which can be productive of no earthly good? No! Before I leave +this place, Rose shall hear me.” + +“She shall,” said Mrs. Maylie. + +“There is something in your manner, which would almost imply that she +will hear me coldly, mother,” said the young man. + +“Not coldly,” rejoined the old lady; “far from it.” + +“How then?” urged the young man. “She has formed no other attachment?” + +“No, indeed,” replied his mother; “you have, or I mistake, too strong a +hold on her affections already. What I would say,” resumed the old +lady, stopping her son as he was about to speak, “is this. Before you +stake your all on this chance; before you suffer yourself to be carried +to the highest point of hope; reflect for a few moments, my dear child, +on Rose’s history, and consider what effect the knowledge of her +doubtful birth may have on her decision: devoted as she is to us, with +all the intensity of her noble mind, and with that perfect sacrifice of +self which, in all matters, great or trifling, has always been her +characteristic.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“That I leave you to discover,” replied Mrs. Maylie. “I must go back to +her. God bless you!” + +“I shall see you again tonight?” said the young man, eagerly. + +“By and by,” replied the lady; “when I leave Rose.” + +“You will tell her I am here?” said Harry. + +“Of course,” replied Mrs. Maylie. + +“And say how anxious I have been, and how much I have suffered, and how +I long to see her. You will not refuse to do this, mother?” + +“No,” said the old lady; “I will tell her all.” And pressing her son’s +hand, affectionately, she hastened from the room. + +Mr. Losberne and Oliver had remained at another end of the apartment +while this hurried conversation was proceeding. The former now held out +his hand to Harry Maylie; and hearty salutations were exchanged between +them. The doctor then communicated, in reply to multifarious questions +from his young friend, a precise account of his patient’s situation; +which was quite as consolatory and full of promise, as Oliver’s +statement had encouraged him to hope; and to the whole of which, Mr. +Giles, who affected to be busy about the luggage, listened with greedy +ears. + +“Have you shot anything particular, lately, Giles?” inquired the +doctor, when he had concluded. + +“Nothing particular, sir,” replied Mr. Giles, colouring up to the eyes. + +“Nor catching any thieves, nor identifying any house-breakers?” said +the doctor. + +“None at all, sir,” replied Mr. Giles, with much gravity. + +“Well,” said the doctor, “I am sorry to hear it, because you do that +sort of thing admirably. Pray, how is Brittles?” + +“The boy is very well, sir,” said Mr. Giles, recovering his usual tone +of patronage; “and sends his respectful duty, sir.” + +“That’s well,” said the doctor. “Seeing you here, reminds me, Mr. +Giles, that on the day before that on which I was called away so +hurriedly, I executed, at the request of your good mistress, a small +commission in your favour. Just step into this corner a moment, will +you?” + +Mr. Giles walked into the corner with much importance, and some wonder, +and was honoured with a short whispering conference with the doctor, on +the termination of which, he made a great many bows, and retired with +steps of unusual stateliness. The subject matter of this conference was +not disclosed in the parlour, but the kitchen was speedily enlightened +concerning it; for Mr. Giles walked straight thither, and having called +for a mug of ale, announced, with an air of majesty, which was highly +effective, that it had pleased his mistress, in consideration of his +gallant behaviour on the occasion of that attempted robbery, to +deposit, in the local savings-bank, the sum of five-and-twenty pounds, +for his sole use and benefit. At this, the two women-servants lifted up +their hands and eyes, and supposed that Mr. Giles, pulling out his +shirt-frill, replied, “No, no”; and that if they observed that he was +at all haughty to his inferiors, he would thank them to tell him so. +And then he made a great many other remarks, no less illustrative of +his humility, which were received with equal favour and applause, and +were, withal, as original and as much to the purpose, as the remarks of +great men commonly are. + +Above stairs, the remainder of the evening passed cheerfully away; for +the doctor was in high spirits; and however fatigued or thoughtful +Harry Maylie might have been at first, he was not proof against the +worthy gentleman’s good humour, which displayed itself in a great +variety of sallies and professional recollections, and an abundance of +small jokes, which struck Oliver as being the drollest things he had +ever heard, and caused him to laugh proportionately; to the evident +satisfaction of the doctor, who laughed immoderately at himself, and +made Harry laugh almost as heartily, by the very force of sympathy. So, +they were as pleasant a party as, under the circumstances, they could +well have been; and it was late before they retired, with light and +thankful hearts, to take that rest of which, after the doubt and +suspense they had recently undergone, they stood much in need. + +Oliver rose next morning, in better heart, and went about his usual +occupations, with more hope and pleasure than he had known for many +days. The birds were once more hung out, to sing, in their old places; +and the sweetest wild flowers that could be found, were once more +gathered to gladden Rose with their beauty. The melancholy which had +seemed to the sad eyes of the anxious boy to hang, for days past, over +every object, beautiful as all were, was dispelled by magic. The dew +seemed to sparkle more brightly on the green leaves; the air to rustle +among them with a sweeter music; and the sky itself to look more blue +and bright. Such is the influence which the condition of our own +thoughts, exercise, even over the appearance of external objects. Men +who look on nature, and their fellow-men, and cry that all is dark and +gloomy, are in the right; but the sombre colours are reflections from +their own jaundiced eyes and hearts. The real hues are delicate, and +need a clearer vision. + +It is worthy of remark, and Oliver did not fail to note it at the time, +that his morning expeditions were no longer made alone. Harry Maylie, +after the very first morning when he met Oliver coming laden home, was +seized with such a passion for flowers, and displayed such a taste in +their arrangement, as left his young companion far behind. If Oliver +were behindhand in these respects, he knew where the best were to be +found; and morning after morning they scoured the country together, and +brought home the fairest that blossomed. The window of the young lady’s +chamber was opened now; for she loved to feel the rich summer air +stream in, and revive her with its freshness; but there always stood in +water, just inside the lattice, one particular little bunch, which was +made up with great care, every morning. Oliver could not help noticing +that the withered flowers were never thrown away, although the little +vase was regularly replenished; nor, could he help observing, that +whenever the doctor came into the garden, he invariably cast his eyes +up to that particular corner, and nodded his head most expressively, as +he set forth on his morning’s walk. Pending these observations, the +days were flying by; and Rose was rapidly recovering. + +Nor did Oliver’s time hang heavy on his hands, although the young lady +had not yet left her chamber, and there were no evening walks, save now +and then, for a short distance, with Mrs. Maylie. He applied himself, +with redoubled assiduity, to the instructions of the white-headed old +gentleman, and laboured so hard that his quick progress surprised even +himself. It was while he was engaged in this pursuit, that he was +greatly startled and distressed by a most unexpected occurrence. + +The little room in which he was accustomed to sit, when busy at his +books, was on the ground-floor, at the back of the house. It was quite +a cottage-room, with a lattice-window: around which were clusters of +jessamine and honeysuckle, that crept over the casement, and filled the +place with their delicious perfume. It looked into a garden, whence a +wicket-gate opened into a small paddock; all beyond, was fine +meadow-land and wood. There was no other dwelling near, in that +direction; and the prospect it commanded was very extensive. + +One beautiful evening, when the first shades of twilight were beginning +to settle upon the earth, Oliver sat at this window, intent upon his +books. He had been poring over them for some time; and, as the day had +been uncommonly sultry, and he had exerted himself a great deal, it is +no disparagement to the authors, whoever they may have been, to say, +that gradually and by slow degrees, he fell asleep. + +There is a kind of sleep that steals upon us sometimes, which, while it +holds the body prisoner, does not free the mind from a sense of things +about it, and enable it to ramble at its pleasure. So far as an +overpowering heaviness, a prostration of strength, and an utter +inability to control our thoughts or power of motion, can be called +sleep, this is it; and yet, we have a consciousness of all that is +going on about us, and, if we dream at such a time, words which are +really spoken, or sounds which really exist at the moment, accommodate +themselves with surprising readiness to our visions, until reality and +imagination become so strangely blended that it is afterwards almost +matter of impossibility to separate the two. Nor is this, the most +striking phenomenon incidental to such a state. It is an undoubted +fact, that although our senses of touch and sight be for the time dead, +yet our sleeping thoughts, and the visionary scenes that pass before +us, will be influenced and materially influenced, by the _mere silent +presence_ of some external object; which may not have been near us when +we closed our eyes: and of whose vicinity we have had no waking +consciousness. + +Oliver knew, perfectly well, that he was in his own little room; that +his books were lying on the table before him; that the sweet air was +stirring among the creeping plants outside. And yet he was asleep. +Suddenly, the scene changed; the air became close and confined; and he +thought, with a glow of terror, that he was in the Jew’s house again. +There sat the hideous old man, in his accustomed corner, pointing at +him, and whispering to another man, with his face averted, who sat +beside him. + +“Hush, my dear!” he thought he heard the Jew say; “it is he, sure +enough. Come away.” + +“He!” the other man seemed to answer; “could I mistake him, think you? +If a crowd of ghosts were to put themselves into his exact shape, and +he stood amongst them, there is something that would tell me how to +point him out. If you buried him fifty feet deep, and took me across +his grave, I fancy I should know, if there wasn’t a mark above it, that +he lay buried there?” + +The man seemed to say this, with such dreadful hatred, that Oliver +awoke with the fear, and started up. + +Good Heaven! what was that, which sent the blood tingling to his heart, +and deprived him of his voice, and of power to move! There—there—at the +window—close before him—so close, that he could have almost touched him +before he started back: with his eyes peering into the room, and +meeting his: there stood the Jew! And beside him, white with rage or +fear, or both, were the scowling features of the man who had accosted +him in the inn-yard. + +It was but an instant, a glance, a flash, before his eyes; and they +were gone. But they had recognised him, and he them; and their look was +as firmly impressed upon his memory, as if it had been deeply carved in +stone, and set before him from his birth. He stood transfixed for a +moment; then, leaping from the window into the garden, called loudly +for help. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXV. +CONTAINING THE UNSATISFACTORY RESULT OF OLIVER’S ADVENTURE; AND A +CONVERSATION OF SOME IMPORTANCE BETWEEN HARRY MAYLIE AND ROSE + + +When the inmates of the house, attracted by Oliver’s cries, hurried to +the spot from which they proceeded, they found him, pale and agitated, +pointing in the direction of the meadows behind the house, and scarcely +able to articulate the words, “The Jew! the Jew!” + +Mr. Giles was at a loss to comprehend what this outcry meant; but Harry +Maylie, whose perceptions were something quicker, and who had heard +Oliver’s history from his mother, understood it at once. + +“What direction did he take?” he asked, catching up a heavy stick which +was standing in a corner. + +“That,” replied Oliver, pointing out the course the man had taken; “I +missed them in an instant.” + +“Then, they are in the ditch!” said Harry. “Follow! And keep as near +me, as you can.” So saying, he sprang over the hedge, and darted off +with a speed which rendered it matter of exceeding difficulty for the +others to keep near him. + +Giles followed as well as he could; and Oliver followed too; and in the +course of a minute or two, Mr. Losberne, who had been out walking, and +just then returned, tumbled over the hedge after them, and picking +himself up with more agility than he could have been supposed to +possess, struck into the same course at no contemptible speed, shouting +all the while, most prodigiously, to know what was the matter. + +On they all went; nor stopped they once to breathe, until the leader, +striking off into an angle of the field indicated by Oliver, began to +search, narrowly, the ditch and hedge adjoining; which afforded time +for the remainder of the party to come up; and for Oliver to +communicate to Mr. Losberne the circumstances that had led to so +vigorous a pursuit. + +The search was all in vain. There were not even the traces of recent +footsteps, to be seen. They stood now, on the summit of a little hill, +commanding the open fields in every direction for three or four miles. +There was the village in the hollow on the left; but, in order to gain +that, after pursuing the track Oliver had pointed out, the men must +have made a circuit of open ground, which it was impossible they could +have accomplished in so short a time. A thick wood skirted the +meadow-land in another direction; but they could not have gained that +covert for the same reason. + +“It must have been a dream, Oliver,” said Harry Maylie. + +“Oh no, indeed, sir,” replied Oliver, shuddering at the very +recollection of the old wretch’s countenance; “I saw him too plainly +for that. I saw them both, as plainly as I see you now.” + +“Who was the other?” inquired Harry and Mr. Losberne, together. + +“The very same man I told you of, who came so suddenly upon me at the +inn,” said Oliver. “We had our eyes fixed full upon each other; and I +could swear to him.” + +“They took this way?” demanded Harry: “are you sure?” + +“As I am that the men were at the window,” replied Oliver, pointing +down, as he spoke, to the hedge which divided the cottage-garden from +the meadow. “The tall man leaped over, just there; and the Jew, running +a few paces to the right, crept through that gap.” + +The two gentlemen watched Oliver’s earnest face, as he spoke, and +looking from him to each other, seemed to feel satisfied of the +accuracy of what he said. Still, in no direction were there any +appearances of the trampling of men in hurried flight. The grass was +long; but it was trodden down nowhere, save where their own feet had +crushed it. The sides and brinks of the ditches were of damp clay; but +in no one place could they discern the print of men’s shoes, or the +slightest mark which would indicate that any feet had pressed the +ground for hours before. + +“This is strange!” said Harry. + +“Strange?” echoed the doctor. “Blathers and Duff, themselves, could +make nothing of it.” + +Notwithstanding the evidently useless nature of their search, they did +not desist until the coming on of night rendered its further +prosecution hopeless; and even then, they gave it up with reluctance. +Giles was dispatched to the different ale-houses in the village, +furnished with the best description Oliver could give of the appearance +and dress of the strangers. Of these, the Jew was, at all events, +sufficiently remarkable to be remembered, supposing he had been seen +drinking, or loitering about; but Giles returned without any +intelligence, calculated to dispel or lessen the mystery. + +On the next day, fresh search was made, and the inquiries renewed; but +with no better success. On the day following, Oliver and Mr. Maylie +repaired to the market-town, in the hope of seeing or hearing something +of the men there; but this effort was equally fruitless. After a few +days, the affair began to be forgotten, as most affairs are, when +wonder, having no fresh food to support it, dies away of itself. + +Meanwhile, Rose was rapidly recovering. She had left her room: was able +to go out; and mixing once more with the family, carried joy into the +hearts of all. + +But, although this happy change had a visible effect on the little +circle; and although cheerful voices and merry laughter were once more +heard in the cottage; there was at times, an unwonted restraint upon +some there: even upon Rose herself: which Oliver could not fail to +remark. Mrs. Maylie and her son were often closeted together for a long +time; and more than once Rose appeared with traces of tears upon her +face. After Mr. Losberne had fixed a day for his departure to Chertsey, +these symptoms increased; and it became evident that something was in +progress which affected the peace of the young lady, and of somebody +else besides. + +At length, one morning, when Rose was alone in the breakfast-parlour, +Harry Maylie entered; and, with some hesitation, begged permission to +speak with her for a few moments. + +“A few—a very few—will suffice, Rose,” said the young man, drawing his +chair towards her. “What I shall have to say, has already presented +itself to your mind; the most cherished hopes of my heart are not +unknown to you, though from my lips you have not heard them stated.” + +Rose had been very pale from the moment of his entrance; but that might +have been the effect of her recent illness. She merely bowed; and +bending over some plants that stood near, waited in silence for him to +proceed. + +“I—I—ought to have left here, before,” said Harry. + +“You should, indeed,” replied Rose. “Forgive me for saying so, but I +wish you had.” + +“I was brought here, by the most dreadful and agonising of all +apprehensions,” said the young man; “the fear of losing the one dear +being on whom my every wish and hope are fixed. You had been dying; +trembling between earth and heaven. We know that when the young, the +beautiful, and good, are visited with sickness, their pure spirits +insensibly turn towards their bright home of lasting rest; we know, +Heaven help us! that the best and fairest of our kind, too often fade +in blooming.” + +There were tears in the eyes of the gentle girl, as these words were +spoken; and when one fell upon the flower over which she bent, and +glistened brightly in its cup, making it more beautiful, it seemed as +though the outpouring of her fresh young heart, claimed kindred +naturally, with the loveliest things in nature. + +“A creature,” continued the young man, passionately, “a creature as +fair and innocent of guile as one of God’s own angels, fluttered +between life and death. Oh! who could hope, when the distant world to +which she was akin, half opened to her view, that she would return to +the sorrow and calamity of this! Rose, Rose, to know that you were +passing away like some soft shadow, which a light from above, casts +upon the earth; to have no hope that you would be spared to those who +linger here; hardly to know a reason why you should be; to feel that +you belonged to that bright sphere whither so many of the fairest and +the best have winged their early flight; and yet to pray, amid all +these consolations, that you might be restored to those who loved +you—these were distractions almost too great to bear. They were mine, +by day and night; and with them, came such a rushing torrent of fears, +and apprehensions, and selfish regrets, lest you should die, and never +know how devotedly I loved you, as almost bore down sense and reason in +its course. You recovered. Day by day, and almost hour by hour, some +drop of health came back, and mingling with the spent and feeble stream +of life which circulated languidly within you, swelled it again to a +high and rushing tide. I have watched you change almost from death, to +life, with eyes that turned blind with their eagerness and deep +affection. Do not tell me that you wish I had lost this; for it has +softened my heart to all mankind.” + +“I did not mean that,” said Rose, weeping; “I only wish you had left +here, that you might have turned to high and noble pursuits again; to +pursuits well worthy of you.” + +“There is no pursuit more worthy of me: more worthy of the highest +nature that exists: than the struggle to win such a heart as yours,” +said the young man, taking her hand. “Rose, my own dear Rose! For +years—for years—I have loved you; hoping to win my way to fame, and +then come proudly home and tell you it had been pursued only for you to +share; thinking, in my daydreams, how I would remind you, in that happy +moment, of the many silent tokens I had given of a boy’s attachment, +and claim your hand, as in redemption of some old mute contract that +had been sealed between us! That time has not arrived; but here, with +not fame won, and no young vision realised, I offer you the heart so +long your own, and stake my all upon the words with which you greet the +offer.” + +“Your behaviour has ever been kind and noble.” said Rose, mastering the +emotions by which she was agitated. “As you believe that I am not +insensible or ungrateful, so hear my answer.” + +“It is, that I may endeavour to deserve you; it is, dear Rose?” + +“It is,” replied Rose, “that you must endeavour to forget me; not as +your old and dearly-attached companion, for that would wound me deeply; +but, as the object of your love. Look into the world; think how many +hearts you would be proud to gain, are there. Confide some other +passion to me, if you will; I will be the truest, warmest, and most +faithful friend you have.” + +There was a pause, during which, Rose, who had covered her face with +one hand, gave free vent to her tears. Harry still retained the other. + +“And your reasons, Rose,” he said, at length, in a low voice; “your +reasons for this decision?” + +“You have a right to know them,” rejoined Rose. “You can say nothing to +alter my resolution. It is a duty that I must perform. I owe it, alike +to others, and to myself.” + +“To yourself?” + +“Yes, Harry. I owe it to myself, that I, a friendless, portionless, +girl, with a blight upon my name, should not give your friends reason +to suspect that I had sordidly yielded to your first passion, and +fastened myself, a clog, on all your hopes and projects. I owe it to +you and yours, to prevent you from opposing, in the warmth of your +generous nature, this great obstacle to your progress in the world.” + +“If your inclinations chime with your sense of duty—” Harry began. + +“They do not,” replied Rose, colouring deeply. + +“Then you return my love?” said Harry. “Say but that, dear Rose; say +but that; and soften the bitterness of this hard disappointment!” + +“If I could have done so, without doing heavy wrong to him I loved,” +rejoined Rose, “I could have—” + +“Have received this declaration very differently?” said Harry. “Do not +conceal that from me, at least, Rose.” + +“I could,” said Rose. “Stay!” she added, disengaging her hand, “why +should we prolong this painful interview? Most painful to me, and yet +productive of lasting happiness, notwithstanding; for it _will_ be +happiness to know that I once held the high place in your regard which +I now occupy, and every triumph you achieve in life will animate me +with new fortitude and firmness. Farewell, Harry! As we have met +today, we meet no more; but in other relations than those in which +this conversation have placed us, we may be long and happily entwined; +and may every blessing that the prayers of a true and earnest heart can +call down from the source of all truth and sincerity, cheer and prosper +you!” + +“Another word, Rose,” said Harry. “Your reason in your own words. From +your own lips, let me hear it!” + +“The prospect before you,” answered Rose, firmly, “is a brilliant one. +All the honours to which great talents and powerful connections can +help men in public life, are in store for you. But those connections +are proud; and I will neither mingle with such as may hold in scorn the +mother who gave me life; nor bring disgrace or failure on the son of +her who has so well supplied that mother’s place. In a word,” said the +young lady, turning away, as her temporary firmness forsook her, “there +is a stain upon my name, which the world visits on innocent heads. I +will carry it into no blood but my own; and the reproach shall rest +alone on me.” + +“One word more, Rose. Dearest Rose! one more!” cried Harry, throwing +himself before her. “If I had been less—less fortunate, the world would +call it—if some obscure and peaceful life had been my destiny—if I had +been poor, sick, helpless—would you have turned from me then? Or has my +probable advancement to riches and honour, given this scruple birth?” + +“Do not press me to reply,” answered Rose. “The question does not +arise, and never will. It is unfair, almost unkind, to urge it.” + +“If your answer be what I almost dare to hope it is,” retorted Harry, +“it will shed a gleam of happiness upon my lonely way, and light the +path before me. It is not an idle thing to do so much, by the utterance +of a few brief words, for one who loves you beyond all else. Oh, Rose: +in the name of my ardent and enduring attachment; in the name of all I +have suffered for you, and all you doom me to undergo; answer me this +one question!” + +“Then, if your lot had been differently cast,” rejoined Rose; “if you +had been even a little, but not so far, above me; if I could have been +a help and comfort to you in any humble scene of peace and retirement, +and not a blot and drawback in ambitious and distinguished crowds; I +should have been spared this trial. I have every reason to be happy, +very happy, now; but then, Harry, I own I should have been happier.” + +Busy recollections of old hopes, cherished as a girl, long ago, crowded +into the mind of Rose, while making this avowal; but they brought tears +with them, as old hopes will when they come back withered; and they +relieved her. + +“I cannot help this weakness, and it makes my purpose stronger,” said +Rose, extending her hand. “I must leave you now, indeed.” + +“I ask one promise,” said Harry. “Once, and only once more,—say within +a year, but it may be much sooner,—I may speak to you again on this +subject, for the last time.” + +“Not to press me to alter my right determination,” replied Rose, with a +melancholy smile; “it will be useless.” + +“No,” said Harry; “to hear you repeat it, if you will—finally repeat +it! I will lay at your feet, whatever of station of fortune I may +possess; and if you still adhere to your present resolution, will not +seek, by word or act, to change it.” + +“Then let it be so,” rejoined Rose; “it is but one pang the more, and +by that time I may be enabled to bear it better.” + +She extended her hand again. But the young man caught her to his bosom; +and imprinting one kiss on her beautiful forehead, hurried from the +room. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVI. +IS A VERY SHORT ONE, AND MAY APPEAR OF NO GREAT IMPORTANCE IN ITS +PLACE, BUT IT SHOULD BE READ NOTWITHSTANDING, AS A SEQUEL TO THE LAST, +AND A KEY TO ONE THAT WILL FOLLOW WHEN ITS TIME ARRIVES + + +“And so you are resolved to be my travelling companion this morning; +eh?” said the doctor, as Harry Maylie joined him and Oliver at the +breakfast-table. “Why, you are not in the same mind or intention two +half-hours together!” + +“You will tell me a different tale one of these days,” said Harry, +colouring without any perceptible reason. + +“I hope I may have good cause to do so,” replied Mr. Losberne; “though +I confess I don’t think I shall. But yesterday morning you had made up +your mind, in a great hurry, to stay here, and to accompany your +mother, like a dutiful son, to the sea-side. Before noon, you announce +that you are going to do me the honour of accompanying me as far as I +go, on your road to London. And at night, you urge me, with great +mystery, to start before the ladies are stirring; the consequence of +which is, that young Oliver here is pinned down to his breakfast when +he ought to be ranging the meadows after botanical phenomena of all +kinds. Too bad, isn’t it, Oliver?” + +“I should have been very sorry not to have been at home when you and +Mr. Maylie went away, sir,” rejoined Oliver. + +“That’s a fine fellow,” said the doctor; “you shall come and see me +when you return. But, to speak seriously, Harry; has any communication +from the great nobs produced this sudden anxiety on your part to be +gone?” + +“The great nobs,” replied Harry, “under which designation, I presume, +you include my most stately uncle, have not communicated with me at +all, since I have been here; nor, at this time of the year, is it +likely that anything would occur to render necessary my immediate +attendance among them.” + +“Well,” said the doctor, “you are a queer fellow. But of course they +will get you into parliament at the election before Christmas, and +these sudden shiftings and changes are no bad preparation for political +life. There’s something in that. Good training is always desirable, +whether the race be for place, cup, or sweepstakes.” + +Harry Maylie looked as if he could have followed up this short dialogue +by one or two remarks that would have staggered the doctor not a +little; but he contented himself with saying, “We shall see,” and +pursued the subject no farther. The post-chaise drove up to the door +shortly afterwards; and Giles coming in for the luggage, the good +doctor bustled out, to see it packed. + +“Oliver,” said Harry Maylie, in a low voice, “let me speak a word with +you.” + +Oliver walked into the window-recess to which Mr. Maylie beckoned him; +much surprised at the mixture of sadness and boisterous spirits, which +his whole behaviour displayed. + +“You can write well now?” said Harry, laying his hand upon his arm. + +“I hope so, sir,” replied Oliver. + +“I shall not be at home again, perhaps for some time; I wish you would +write to me—say once a fort-night: every alternate Monday: to the +General Post Office in London. Will you?” + +“Oh! certainly, sir; I shall be proud to do it,” exclaimed Oliver, +greatly delighted with the commission. + +“I should like to know how—how my mother and Miss Maylie are,” said the +young man; “and you can fill up a sheet by telling me what walks you +take, and what you talk about, and whether she—they, I mean—seem happy +and quite well. You understand me?” + +“Oh! quite, sir, quite,” replied Oliver. + +“I would rather you did not mention it to them,” said Harry, hurrying +over his words; “because it might make my mother anxious to write to me +oftener, and it is a trouble and worry to her. Let it be a secret +between you and me; and mind you tell me everything! I depend upon +you.” + +Oliver, quite elated and honoured by a sense of his importance, +faithfully promised to be secret and explicit in his communications. +Mr. Maylie took leave of him, with many assurances of his regard and +protection. + +The doctor was in the chaise; Giles (who, it had been arranged, should +be left behind) held the door open in his hand; and the women-servants +were in the garden, looking on. Harry cast one slight glance at the +latticed window, and jumped into the carriage. + +“Drive on!” he cried, “hard, fast, full gallop! Nothing short of flying +will keep pace with me, today.” + +“Halloa!” cried the doctor, letting down the front glass in a great +hurry, and shouting to the postillion; “something very short of flying +will keep pace with _me_. Do you hear?” + +Jingling and clattering, till distance rendered its noise inaudible, +and its rapid progress only perceptible to the eye, the vehicle wound +its way along the road, almost hidden in a cloud of dust: now wholly +disappearing, and now becoming visible again, as intervening objects, +or the intricacies of the way, permitted. It was not until even the +dusty cloud was no longer to be seen, that the gazers dispersed. + +And there was one looker-on, who remained with eyes fixed upon the spot +where the carriage had disappeared, long after it was many miles away; +for, behind the white curtain which had shrouded her from view when +Harry raised his eyes towards the window, sat Rose herself. + +“He seems in high spirits and happy,” she said, at length. “I feared +for a time he might be otherwise. I was mistaken. I am very, very +glad.” + +Tears are signs of gladness as well as grief; but those which coursed +down Rose’s face, as she sat pensively at the window, still gazing in +the same direction, seemed to tell more of sorrow than of joy. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVII. +IN WHICH THE READER MAY PERCEIVE A CONTRAST, NOT UNCOMMON IN +MATRIMONIAL CASES + + +Mr. Bumble sat in the workhouse parlour, with his eyes moodily fixed on +the cheerless grate, whence, as it was summer time, no brighter gleam +proceeded, than the reflection of certain sickly rays of the sun, which +were sent back from its cold and shining surface. A paper fly-cage +dangled from the ceiling, to which he occasionally raised his eyes in +gloomy thought; and, as the heedless insects hovered round the gaudy +net-work, Mr. Bumble would heave a deep sigh, while a more gloomy +shadow overspread his countenance. Mr. Bumble was meditating; it might +be that the insects brought to mind, some painful passage in his own +past life. + +Nor was Mr. Bumble’s gloom the only thing calculated to awaken a +pleasing melancholy in the bosom of a spectator. There were not wanting +other appearances, and those closely connected with his own person, +which announced that a great change had taken place in the position of +his affairs. The laced coat, and the cocked hat; where were they? He +still wore knee-breeches, and dark cotton stockings on his nether +limbs; but they were not _the_ breeches. The coat was wide-skirted; and +in that respect like _the_ coat, but, oh how different! The mighty +cocked hat was replaced by a modest round one. Mr. Bumble was no longer +a beadle. + +There are some promotions in life, which, independent of the more +substantial rewards they offer, require peculiar value and dignity from +the coats and waistcoats connected with them. A field-marshal has his +uniform; a bishop his silk apron; a counsellor his silk gown; a beadle +his cocked hat. Strip the bishop of his apron, or the beadle of his hat +and lace; what are they? Men. Mere men. Dignity, and even holiness too, +sometimes, are more questions of coat and waistcoat than some people +imagine. + +Mr. Bumble had married Mrs. Corney, and was master of the workhouse. +Another beadle had come into power. On him the cocked hat, gold-laced +coat, and staff, had all three descended. + +“And tomorrow two months it was done!” said Mr. Bumble, with a sigh. +“It seems a age.” + +Mr. Bumble might have meant that he had concentrated a whole existence +of happiness into the short space of eight weeks; but the sigh—there +was a vast deal of meaning in the sigh. + +“I sold myself,” said Mr. Bumble, pursuing the same train of +reflection, “for six teaspoons, a pair of sugar-tongs, and a milk-pot; +with a small quantity of second-hand furniture, and twenty pound in +money. I went very reasonable. Cheap, dirt cheap!” + +“Cheap!” cried a shrill voice in Mr. Bumble’s ear: “you would have been +dear at any price; and dear enough I paid for you, Lord above knows +that!” + +Mr. Bumble turned, and encountered the face of his interesting consort, +who, imperfectly comprehending the few words she had overheard of his +complaint, had hazarded the foregoing remark at a venture. + +“Mrs. Bumble, ma’am!” said Mr. Bumble, with a sentimental sternness. + +“Well!” cried the lady. + +“Have the goodness to look at me,” said Mr. Bumble, fixing his eyes +upon her. + +“If she stands such a eye as that,” said Mr. Bumble to himself, “she +can stand anything. It is a eye I never knew to fail with paupers. If +it fails with her, my power is gone.” + +Whether an exceedingly small expansion of eye be sufficient to quell +paupers, who, being lightly fed, are in no very high condition; or +whether the late Mrs. Corney was particularly proof against eagle +glances; are matters of opinion. The matter of fact, is, that the +matron was in no way overpowered by Mr. Bumble’s scowl, but, on the +contrary, treated it with great disdain, and even raised a laugh +thereat, which sounded as though it were genuine. + +On hearing this most unexpected sound, Mr. Bumble looked, first +incredulous, and afterwards amazed. He then relapsed into his former +state; nor did he rouse himself until his attention was again awakened +by the voice of his partner. + +“Are you going to sit snoring there, all day?” inquired Mrs. Bumble. + +“I am going to sit here, as long as I think proper, ma’am,” rejoined +Mr. Bumble; “and although I was _not_ snoring, I shall snore, gape, +sneeze, laugh, or cry, as the humour strikes me; such being my +prerogative.” + +“_Your_ prerogative!” sneered Mrs. Bumble, with ineffable contempt. + +“I said the word, ma’am,” said Mr. Bumble. “The prerogative of a man is +to command.” + +“And what’s the prerogative of a woman, in the name of Goodness?” cried +the relict of Mr. Corney deceased. + +“To obey, ma’am,” thundered Mr. Bumble. “Your late unfortunate husband +should have taught it you; and then, perhaps, he might have been alive +now. I wish he was, poor man!” + +Mrs. Bumble, seeing at a glance, that the decisive moment had now +arrived, and that a blow struck for the mastership on one side or +other, must necessarily be final and conclusive, no sooner heard this +allusion to the dead and gone, than she dropped into a chair, and with +a loud scream that Mr. Bumble was a hard-hearted brute, fell into a +paroxysm of tears. + +But, tears were not the things to find their way to Mr. Bumble’s soul; +his heart was waterproof. Like washable beaver hats that improve with +rain, his nerves were rendered stouter and more vigorous, by showers of +tears, which, being tokens of weakness, and so far tacit admissions of +his own power, pleased and exalted him. He eyed his good lady with +looks of great satisfaction, and begged, in an encouraging manner, that +she should cry her hardest: the exercise being looked upon, by the +faculty, as strongly conducive to health. + +“It opens the lungs, washes the countenance, exercises the eyes, and +softens down the temper,” said Mr. Bumble. “So cry away.” + +As he discharged himself of this pleasantry, Mr. Bumble took his hat +from a peg, and putting it on, rather rakishly, on one side, as a man +might, who felt he had asserted his superiority in a becoming manner, +thrust his hands into his pockets, and sauntered towards the door, with +much ease and waggishness depicted in his whole appearance. + +Now, Mrs. Corney that was, had tried the tears, because they were less +troublesome than a manual assault; but, she was quite prepared to make +trial of the latter mode of proceeding, as Mr. Bumble was not long in +discovering. + +The first proof he experienced of the fact, was conveyed in a hollow +sound, immediately succeeded by the sudden flying off of his hat to the +opposite end of the room. This preliminary proceeding laying bare his +head, the expert lady, clasping him tightly round the throat with one +hand, inflicted a shower of blows (dealt with singular vigour and +dexterity) upon it with the other. This done, she created a little +variety by scratching his face, and tearing his hair; and, having, by +this time, inflicted as much punishment as she deemed necessary for the +offence, she pushed him over a chair, which was luckily well situated +for the purpose: and defied him to talk about his prerogative again, if +he dared. + +“Get up!” said Mrs. Bumble, in a voice of command. “And take yourself +away from here, unless you want me to do something desperate.” + +Mr. Bumble rose with a very rueful countenance: wondering much what +something desperate might be. Picking up his hat, he looked towards the +door. + +“Are you going?” demanded Mrs. Bumble. + +“Certainly, my dear, certainly,” rejoined Mr. Bumble, making a quicker +motion towards the door. “I didn’t intend to—I’m going, my dear! You +are so very violent, that really I—” + +At this instant, Mrs. Bumble stepped hastily forward to replace the +carpet, which had been kicked up in the scuffle. Mr. Bumble immediately +darted out of the room, without bestowing another thought on his +unfinished sentence: leaving the late Mrs. Corney in full possession of +the field. + +Mr. Bumble was fairly taken by surprise, and fairly beaten. He had a +decided propensity for bullying: derived no inconsiderable pleasure +from the exercise of petty cruelty; and, consequently, was (it is +needless to say) a coward. This is by no means a disparagement to his +character; for many official personages, who are held in high respect +and admiration, are the victims of similar infirmities. The remark is +made, indeed, rather in his favour than otherwise, and with a view of +impressing the reader with a just sense of his qualifications for +office. + +But, the measure of his degradation was not yet full. After making a +tour of the house, and thinking, for the first time, that the poor-laws +really were too hard on people; and that men who ran away from their +wives, leaving them chargeable to the parish, ought, in justice to be +visited with no punishment at all, but rather rewarded as meritorious +individuals who had suffered much; Mr. Bumble came to a room where some +of the female paupers were usually employed in washing the parish +linen: when the sound of voices in conversation, now proceeded. + +“Hem!” said Mr. Bumble, summoning up all his native dignity. “These +women at least shall continue to respect the prerogative. Hallo! hallo +there! What do you mean by this noise, you hussies?” + +With these words, Mr. Bumble opened the door, and walked in with a very +fierce and angry manner: which was at once exchanged for a most +humiliated and cowering air, as his eyes unexpectedly rested on the +form of his lady wife. + +“My dear,” said Mr. Bumble, “I didn’t know you were here.” + +“Didn’t know I was here!” repeated Mrs. Bumble. “What do _you_ do +here?” + +“I thought they were talking rather too much to be doing their work +properly, my dear,” replied Mr. Bumble: glancing distractedly at a +couple of old women at the wash-tub, who were comparing notes of +admiration at the workhouse-master’s humility. + +“_You_ thought they were talking too much?” said Mrs. Bumble. “What +business is it of yours?” + +“Why, my dear—” urged Mr. Bumble submissively. + +“What business is it of yours?” demanded Mrs. Bumble, again. + +“It’s very true, you’re matron here, my dear,” submitted Mr. Bumble; +“but I thought you mightn’t be in the way just then.” + +“I’ll tell you what, Mr. Bumble,” returned his lady. “We don’t want any +of your interference. You’re a great deal too fond of poking your nose +into things that don’t concern you, making everybody in the house +laugh, the moment your back is turned, and making yourself look like a +fool every hour in the day. Be off; come!” + +Mr. Bumble, seeing with excruciating feelings, the delight of the two +old paupers, who were tittering together most rapturously, hesitated +for an instant. Mrs. Bumble, whose patience brooked no delay, caught up +a bowl of soap-suds, and motioning him towards the door, ordered him +instantly to depart, on pain of receiving the contents upon his portly +person. + +What could Mr. Bumble do? He looked dejectedly round, and slunk away; +and, as he reached the door, the titterings of the paupers broke into a +shrill chuckle of irrepressible delight. It wanted but this. He was +degraded in their eyes; he had lost caste and station before the very +paupers; he had fallen from all the height and pomp of beadleship, to +the lowest depth of the most snubbed hen-peckery. + +“All in two months!” said Mr. Bumble, filled with dismal thoughts. “Two +months! No more than two months ago, I was not only my own master, but +everybody else’s, so far as the porochial workhouse was concerned, and +now!—” + +It was too much. Mr. Bumble boxed the ears of the boy who opened the +gate for him (for he had reached the portal in his reverie); and +walked, distractedly, into the street. + +He walked up one street, and down another, until exercise had abated +the first passion of his grief; and then the revulsion of feeling made +him thirsty. He passed a great many public-houses; but, at length +paused before one in a by-way, whose parlour, as he gathered from a +hasty peep over the blinds, was deserted, save by one solitary +customer. It began to rain, heavily, at the moment. This determined +him. Mr. Bumble stepped in; and ordering something to drink, as he +passed the bar, entered the apartment into which he had looked from the +street. + +The man who was seated there, was tall and dark, and wore a large +cloak. He had the air of a stranger; and seemed, by a certain +haggardness in his look, as well as by the dusty soils on his dress, to +have travelled some distance. He eyed Bumble askance, as he entered, +but scarcely deigned to nod his head in acknowledgment of his +salutation. + +Mr. Bumble had quite dignity enough for two; supposing even that the +stranger had been more familiar: so he drank his gin-and-water in +silence, and read the paper with great show of pomp and circumstance. + +It so happened, however: as it will happen very often, when men fall +into company under such circumstances: that Mr. Bumble felt, every now +and then, a powerful inducement, which he could not resist, to steal a +look at the stranger: and that whenever he did so, he withdrew his +eyes, in some confusion, to find that the stranger was at that moment +stealing a look at him. Mr. Bumble’s awkwardness was enhanced by the +very remarkable expression of the stranger’s eye, which was keen and +bright, but shadowed by a scowl of distrust and suspicion, unlike +anything he had ever observed before, and repulsive to behold. + +When they had encountered each other’s glance several times in this +way, the stranger, in a harsh, deep voice, broke silence. + +“Were you looking for me,” he said, “when you peered in at the window?” + +“Not that I am aware of, unless you’re Mr.—” Here Mr. Bumble stopped +short; for he was curious to know the stranger’s name, and thought in +his impatience, he might supply the blank. + +“I see you were not,” said the stranger; an expression of quiet sarcasm +playing about his mouth; “or you have known my name. You don’t know it. +I would recommend you not to ask for it.” + +“I meant no harm, young man,” observed Mr. Bumble, majestically. + +“And have done none,” said the stranger. + +Another silence succeeded this short dialogue: which was again broken +by the stranger. + +“I have seen you before, I think?” said he. “You were differently +dressed at that time, and I only passed you in the street, but I should +know you again. You were beadle here, once; were you not?” + +“I was,” said Mr. Bumble, in some surprise; “porochial beadle.” + +“Just so,” rejoined the other, nodding his head. “It was in that +character I saw you. What are you now?” + +“Master of the workhouse,” rejoined Mr. Bumble, slowly and +impressively, to check any undue familiarity the stranger might +otherwise assume. “Master of the workhouse, young man!” + +“You have the same eye to your own interest, that you always had, I +doubt not?” resumed the stranger, looking keenly into Mr. Bumble’s +eyes, as he raised them in astonishment at the question. + +“Don’t scruple to answer freely, man. I know you pretty well, you see.” + +“I suppose, a married man,” replied Mr. Bumble, shading his eyes with +his hand, and surveying the stranger, from head to foot, in evident +perplexity, “is not more averse to turning an honest penny when he can, +than a single one. Porochial officers are not so well paid that they +can afford to refuse any little extra fee, when it comes to them in a +civil and proper manner.” + +The stranger smiled, and nodded his head again: as much to say, he had +not mistaken his man; then rang the bell. + +“Fill this glass again,” he said, handing Mr. Bumble’s empty tumbler to +the landlord. “Let it be strong and hot. You like it so, I suppose?” + +“Not too strong,” replied Mr. Bumble, with a delicate cough. + +“You understand what that means, landlord!” said the stranger, drily. + +The host smiled, disappeared, and shortly afterwards returned with a +steaming jorum: of which, the first gulp brought the water into Mr. +Bumble’s eyes. + +“Now listen to me,” said the stranger, after closing the door and +window. “I came down to this place, today, to find you out; and, by +one of those chances which the devil throws in the way of his friends +sometimes, you walked into the very room I was sitting in, while you +were uppermost in my mind. I want some information from you. I don’t +ask you to give it for nothing, slight as it is. Put up that, to begin +with.” + +As he spoke, he pushed a couple of sovereigns across the table to his +companion, carefully, as though unwilling that the chinking of money +should be heard without. When Mr. Bumble had scrupulously examined the +coins, to see that they were genuine, and had put them up, with much +satisfaction, in his waistcoat-pocket, he went on: + +“Carry your memory back—let me see—twelve years, last winter.” + +“It’s a long time,” said Mr. Bumble. “Very good. I’ve done it.” + +“The scene, the workhouse.” + +“Good!” + +“And the time, night.” + +“Yes.” + +“And the place, the crazy hole, wherever it was, in which miserable +drabs brought forth the life and health so often denied to +themselves—gave birth to puling children for the parish to rear; and +hid their shame, rot ’em in the grave!” + +“The lying-in room, I suppose?” said Mr. Bumble, not quite following +the stranger’s excited description. + +“Yes,” said the stranger. “A boy was born there.” + +“A many boys,” observed Mr. Bumble, shaking his head, despondingly. + +“A murrain on the young devils!” cried the stranger; “I speak of one; a +meek-looking, pale-faced boy, who was apprenticed down here, to a +coffin-maker—I wish he had made his coffin, and screwed his body in +it—and who afterwards ran away to London, as it was supposed.” + +“Why, you mean Oliver! Young Twist!” said Mr. Bumble; “I remember him, +of course. There wasn’t a obstinater young rascal—” + +“It’s not of him I want to hear; I’ve heard enough of him,” said the +stranger, stopping Mr. Bumble in the outset of a tirade on the subject +of poor Oliver’s vices. “It’s of a woman; the hag that nursed his +mother. Where is she?” + +“Where is she?” said Mr. Bumble, whom the gin-and-water had rendered +facetious. “It would be hard to tell. There’s no midwifery there, +whichever place she’s gone to; so I suppose she’s out of employment, +anyway.” + +“What do you mean?” demanded the stranger, sternly. + +“That she died last winter,” rejoined Mr. Bumble. + +The man looked fixedly at him when he had given this information, and +although he did not withdraw his eyes for some time afterwards, his +gaze gradually became vacant and abstracted, and he seemed lost in +thought. For some time, he appeared doubtful whether he ought to be +relieved or disappointed by the intelligence; but at length he breathed +more freely; and withdrawing his eyes, observed that it was no great +matter. With that he rose, as if to depart. + +But Mr. Bumble was cunning enough; and he at once saw that an +opportunity was opened, for the lucrative disposal of some secret in +the possession of his better half. He well remembered the night of old +Sally’s death, which the occurrences of that day had given him good +reason to recollect, as the occasion on which he had proposed to Mrs. +Corney; and although that lady had never confided to him the disclosure +of which she had been the solitary witness, he had heard enough to know +that it related to something that had occurred in the old woman’s +attendance, as workhouse nurse, upon the young mother of Oliver Twist. +Hastily calling this circumstance to mind, he informed the stranger, +with an air of mystery, that one woman had been closeted with the old +harridan shortly before she died; and that she could, as he had reason +to believe, throw some light on the subject of his inquiry. + +“How can I find her?” said the stranger, thrown off his guard; and +plainly showing that all his fears (whatever they were) were aroused +afresh by the intelligence. + +“Only through me,” rejoined Mr. Bumble. + +“When?” cried the stranger, hastily. + +“Tomorrow,” rejoined Bumble. + +“At nine in the evening,” said the stranger, producing a scrap of +paper, and writing down upon it, an obscure address by the water-side, +in characters that betrayed his agitation; “at nine in the evening, +bring her to me there. I needn’t tell you to be secret. It’s your +interest.” + +With these words, he led the way to the door, after stopping to pay for +the liquor that had been drunk. Shortly remarking that their roads were +different, he departed, without more ceremony than an emphatic +repetition of the hour of appointment for the following night. + +On glancing at the address, the parochial functionary observed that it +contained no name. The stranger had not gone far, so he made after him +to ask it. + +“What do you want?” cried the man, turning quickly round, as Bumble +touched him on the arm. “Following me?” + +“Only to ask a question,” said the other, pointing to the scrap of +paper. “What name am I to ask for?” + +“Monks!” rejoined the man; and strode hastily away. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVIII. +CONTAINING AN ACCOUNT OF WHAT PASSED BETWEEN MR. AND MRS. BUMBLE, AND +MR. MONKS, AT THEIR NOCTURNAL INTERVIEW + + +It was a dull, close, overcast summer evening. The clouds, which had +been threatening all day, spread out in a dense and sluggish mass of +vapour, already yielded large drops of rain, and seemed to presage a +violent thunder-storm, when Mr. and Mrs. Bumble, turning out of the +main street of the town, directed their course towards a scattered +little colony of ruinous houses, distant from it some mile and a-half, +or thereabouts, and erected on a low unwholesome swamp, bordering upon +the river. + +They were both wrapped in old and shabby outer garments, which might, +perhaps, serve the double purpose of protecting their persons from the +rain, and sheltering them from observation. The husband carried a +lantern, from which, however, no light yet shone; and trudged on, a few +paces in front, as though—the way being dirty—to give his wife the +benefit of treading in his heavy footprints. They went on, in profound +silence; every now and then, Mr. Bumble relaxed his pace, and turned +his head as if to make sure that his helpmate was following; then, +discovering that she was close at his heels, he mended his rate of +walking, and proceeded, at a considerable increase of speed, towards +their place of destination. + +This was far from being a place of doubtful character; for it had long +been known as the residence of none but low ruffians, who, under +various pretences of living by their labour, subsisted chiefly on +plunder and crime. It was a collection of mere hovels: some, hastily +built with loose bricks: others, of old worm-eaten ship-timber: jumbled +together without any attempt at order or arrangement, and planted, for +the most part, within a few feet of the river’s bank. A few leaky boats +drawn up on the mud, and made fast to the dwarf wall which skirted it: +and here and there an oar or coil of rope: appeared, at first, to +indicate that the inhabitants of these miserable cottages pursued some +avocation on the river; but a glance at the shattered and useless +condition of the articles thus displayed, would have led a passer-by, +without much difficulty, to the conjecture that they were disposed +there, rather for the preservation of appearances, than with any view +to their being actually employed. + +In the heart of this cluster of huts; and skirting the river, which its +upper stories overhung; stood a large building, formerly used as a +manufactory of some kind. It had, in its day, probably furnished +employment to the inhabitants of the surrounding tenements. But it had +long since gone to ruin. The rat, the worm, and the action of the damp, +had weakened and rotted the piles on which it stood; and a considerable +portion of the building had already sunk down into the water; while the +remainder, tottering and bending over the dark stream, seemed to wait a +favourable opportunity of following its old companion, and involving +itself in the same fate. + +It was before this ruinous building that the worthy couple paused, as +the first peal of distant thunder reverberated in the air, and the rain +commenced pouring violently down. + +“The place should be somewhere here,” said Bumble, consulting a scrap +of paper he held in his hand. + +“Halloa there!” cried a voice from above. + +Following the sound, Mr. Bumble raised his head and descried a man +looking out of a door, breast-high, on the second story. + +“Stand still, a minute,” cried the voice; “I’ll be with you directly.” +With which the head disappeared, and the door closed. + +“Is that the man?” asked Mr. Bumble’s good lady. + +Mr. Bumble nodded in the affirmative. + +“Then, mind what I told you,” said the matron: “and be careful to say +as little as you can, or you’ll betray us at once.” + +Mr. Bumble, who had eyed the building with very rueful looks, was +apparently about to express some doubts relative to the advisability of +proceeding any further with the enterprise just then, when he was +prevented by the appearance of Monks: who opened a small door, near +which they stood, and beckoned them inwards. + +“Come in!” he cried impatiently, stamping his foot upon the ground. +“Don’t keep me here!” + +The woman, who had hesitated at first, walked boldly in, without any +other invitation. Mr. Bumble, who was ashamed or afraid to lag behind, +followed: obviously very ill at ease and with scarcely any of that +remarkable dignity which was usually his chief characteristic. + +“What the devil made you stand lingering there, in the wet?” said +Monks, turning round, and addressing Bumble, after he had bolted the +door behind them. + +“We—we were only cooling ourselves,” stammered Bumble, looking +apprehensively about him. + +“Cooling yourselves!” retorted Monks. “Not all the rain that ever fell, +or ever will fall, will put as much of hell’s fire out, as a man can +carry about with him. You won’t cool yourself so easily; don’t think +it!” + +With this agreeable speech, Monks turned short upon the matron, and +bent his gaze upon her, till even she, who was not easily cowed, was +fain to withdraw her eyes, and turn them towards the ground. + +“This is the woman, is it?” demanded Monks. + +“Hem! That is the woman,” replied Mr. Bumble, mindful of his wife’s +caution. + +“You think women never can keep secrets, I suppose?” said the matron, +interposing, and returning, as she spoke, the searching look of Monks. + +“I know they will always keep _one_ till it’s found out,” said Monks. + +“And what may that be?” asked the matron. + +“The loss of their own good name,” replied Monks. “So, by the same +rule, if a woman’s a party to a secret that might hang or transport +her, I’m not afraid of her telling it to anybody; not I! Do you +understand, mistress?” + +“No,” rejoined the matron, slightly colouring as she spoke. + +“Of course you don’t!” said Monks. “How should you?” + +Bestowing something half-way between a smile and a frown upon his two +companions, and again beckoning them to follow him, the man hastened +across the apartment, which was of considerable extent, but low in the +roof. He was preparing to ascend a steep staircase, or rather ladder, +leading to another floor of warehouses above: when a bright flash of +lightning streamed down the aperture, and a peal of thunder followed, +which shook the crazy building to its centre. + +“Hear it!” he cried, shrinking back. “Hear it! Rolling and crashing on +as if it echoed through a thousand caverns where the devils were hiding +from it. I hate the sound!” + +He remained silent for a few moments; and then, removing his hands +suddenly from his face, showed, to the unspeakable discomposure of Mr. +Bumble, that it was much distorted and discoloured. + +“These fits come over me, now and then,” said Monks, observing his +alarm; “and thunder sometimes brings them on. Don’t mind me now; it’s +all over for this once.” + +Thus speaking, he led the way up the ladder; and hastily closing the +window-shutter of the room into which it led, lowered a lantern which +hung at the end of a rope and pulley passed through one of the heavy +beams in the ceiling: and which cast a dim light upon an old table and +three chairs that were placed beneath it. + +“Now,” said Monks, when they had all three seated themselves, “the +sooner we come to our business, the better for all. The woman know what +it is, does she?” + +The question was addressed to Bumble; but his wife anticipated the +reply, by intimating that she was perfectly acquainted with it. + +“He is right in saying that you were with this hag the night she died; +and that she told you something—” + +“About the mother of the boy you named,” replied the matron +interrupting him. “Yes.” + +“The first question is, of what nature was her communication?” said +Monks. + +“That’s the second,” observed the woman with much deliberation. “The +first is, what may the communication be worth?” + +“Who the devil can tell that, without knowing of what kind it is?” +asked Monks. + +“Nobody better than you, I am persuaded,” answered Mrs. Bumble: who did +not want for spirit, as her yoke-fellow could abundantly testify. + +“Humph!” said Monks significantly, and with a look of eager inquiry; +“there may be money’s worth to get, eh?” + +“Perhaps there may,” was the composed reply. + +“Something that was taken from her,” said Monks. “Something that she +wore. Something that—” + +“You had better bid,” interrupted Mrs. Bumble. “I have heard enough, +already, to assure me that you are the man I ought to talk to.” + +Mr. Bumble, who had not yet been admitted by his better half into any +greater share of the secret than he had originally possessed, listened +to this dialogue with outstretched neck and distended eyes: which he +directed towards his wife and Monks, by turns, in undisguised +astonishment; increased, if possible, when the latter sternly demanded, +what sum was required for the disclosure. + +“What’s it worth to you?” asked the woman, as collectedly as before. + +“It may be nothing; it may be twenty pounds,” replied Monks. “Speak +out, and let me know which.” + +“Add five pounds to the sum you have named; give me five-and-twenty +pounds in gold,” said the woman; “and I’ll tell you all I know. Not +before.” + +“Five-and-twenty pounds!” exclaimed Monks, drawing back. + +“I spoke as plainly as I could,” replied Mrs. Bumble. “It’s not a large +sum, either.” + +“Not a large sum for a paltry secret, that may be nothing when it’s +told!” cried Monks impatiently; “and which has been lying dead for +twelve years past or more!” + +“Such matters keep well, and, like good wine, often double their value +in course of time,” answered the matron, still preserving the resolute +indifference she had assumed. “As to lying dead, there are those who +will lie dead for twelve thousand years to come, or twelve million, for +anything you or I know, who will tell strange tales at last!” + +“What if I pay it for nothing?” asked Monks, hesitating. + +“You can easily take it away again,” replied the matron. “I am but a +woman; alone here; and unprotected.” + +“Not alone, my dear, nor unprotected, neither,” submitted Mr. Bumble, +in a voice tremulous with fear: “_I_ am here, my dear. And besides,” +said Mr. Bumble, his teeth chattering as he spoke, “Mr. Monks is too +much of a gentleman to attempt any violence on porochial persons. Mr. +Monks is aware that I am not a young man, my dear, and also that I am a +little run to seed, as I may say; but he has heerd: I say I have no +doubt Mr. Monks has heerd, my dear: that I am a very determined +officer, with very uncommon strength, if I’m once roused. I only want a +little rousing; that’s all.” + +As Mr. Bumble spoke, he made a melancholy feint of grasping his lantern +with fierce determination; and plainly showed, by the alarmed +expression of every feature, that he _did_ want a little rousing, and +not a little, prior to making any very warlike demonstration: unless, +indeed, against paupers, or other person or persons trained down for +the purpose. + +“You are a fool,” said Mrs. Bumble, in reply; “and had better hold your +tongue.” + +“He had better have cut it out, before he came, if he can’t speak in a +lower tone,” said Monks, grimly. “So! He’s your husband, eh?” + +“He my husband!” tittered the matron, parrying the question. + +“I thought as much, when you came in,” rejoined Monks, marking the +angry glance which the lady darted at her spouse as she spoke. “So much +the better; I have less hesitation in dealing with two people, when I +find that there’s only one will between them. I’m in earnest. See +here!” + +He thrust his hand into a side-pocket; and producing a canvas bag, told +out twenty-five sovereigns on the table, and pushed them over to the +woman. + +“Now,” he said, “gather them up; and when this cursed peal of thunder, +which I feel is coming up to break over the house-top, is gone, let’s +hear your story.” + +The thunder, which seemed in fact much nearer, and to shiver and break +almost over their heads, having subsided, Monks, raising his face from +the table, bent forward to listen to what the woman should say. The +faces of the three nearly touched, as the two men leant over the small +table in their eagerness to hear, and the woman also leant forward to +render her whisper audible. The sickly rays of the suspended lantern +falling directly upon them, aggravated the paleness and anxiety of +their countenances: which, encircled by the deepest gloom and darkness, +looked ghastly in the extreme. + +“When this woman, that we called old Sally, died,” the matron began, +“she and I were alone.” + +“Was there no one by?” asked Monks, in the same hollow whisper; “No +sick wretch or idiot in some other bed? No one who could hear, and +might, by possibility, understand?” + +“Not a soul,” replied the woman; “we were alone. _I_ stood alone beside +the body when death came over it.” + +“Good,” said Monks, regarding her attentively. “Go on.” + +“She spoke of a young creature,” resumed the matron, “who had brought a +child into the world some years before; not merely in the same room, +but in the same bed, in which she then lay dying.” + +“Ay?” said Monks, with quivering lip, and glancing over his shoulder, +“Blood! How things come about!” + +“The child was the one you named to him last night,” said the matron, +nodding carelessly towards her husband; “the mother this nurse had +robbed.” + +“In life?” asked Monks. + +“In death,” replied the woman, with something like a shudder. “She +stole from the corpse, when it had hardly turned to one, that which the +dead mother had prayed her, with her last breath, to keep for the +infant’s sake.” + +“She sold it,” cried Monks, with desperate eagerness; “did she sell it? +Where? When? To whom? How long before?” + +“As she told me, with great difficulty, that she had done this,” said +the matron, “she fell back and died.” + +“Without saying more?” cried Monks, in a voice which, from its very +suppression, seemed only the more furious. “It’s a lie! I’ll not be +played with. She said more. I’ll tear the life out of you both, but +I’ll know what it was.” + +“She didn’t utter another word,” said the woman, to all appearance +unmoved (as Mr. Bumble was very far from being) by the strange man’s +violence; “but she clutched my gown, violently, with one hand, which +was partly closed; and when I saw that she was dead, and so removed the +hand by force, I found it clasped a scrap of dirty paper.” + +“Which contained—” interposed Monks, stretching forward. + +“Nothing,” replied the woman; “it was a pawnbroker’s duplicate.” + +“For what?” demanded Monks. + +“In good time I’ll tell you.” said the woman. “I judge that she had +kept the trinket, for some time, in the hope of turning it to better +account; and then had pawned it; and had saved or scraped together +money to pay the pawnbroker’s interest year by year, and prevent its +running out; so that if anything came of it, it could still be +redeemed. Nothing had come of it; and, as I tell you, she died with the +scrap of paper, all worn and tattered, in her hand. The time was out in +two days; I thought something might one day come of it too; and so +redeemed the pledge.” + +“Where is it now?” asked Monks quickly. + +“_There_,” replied the woman. And, as if glad to be relieved of it, she +hastily threw upon the table a small kid bag scarcely large enough for +a French watch, which Monks pouncing upon, tore open with trembling +hands. It contained a little gold locket: in which were two locks of +hair, and a plain gold wedding-ring. + +“It has the word ‘Agnes’ engraved on the inside,” said the woman. + +“There is a blank left for the surname; and then follows the date; +which is within a year before the child was born. I found out that.” + +“And this is all?” said Monks, after a close and eager scrutiny of the +contents of the little packet. + +“All,” replied the woman. + +Mr. Bumble drew a long breath, as if he were glad to find that the +story was over, and no mention made of taking the five-and-twenty +pounds back again; and now he took courage to wipe the perspiration +which had been trickling over his nose, unchecked, during the whole of +the previous dialogue. + +“I know nothing of the story, beyond what I can guess at,” said his +wife addressing Monks, after a short silence; “and I want to know +nothing; for it’s safer not. But I may ask you two questions, may I?” + +“You may ask,” said Monks, with some show of surprise; “but whether I +answer or not is another question.” + +“—Which makes three,” observed Mr. Bumble, essaying a stroke of +facetiousness. + +“Is that what you expected to get from me?” demanded the matron. + +“It is,” replied Monks. “The other question?” + +“What do you propose to do with it? Can it be used against me?” + +“Never,” rejoined Monks; “nor against me either. See here! But don’t +move a step forward, or your life is not worth a bulrush.” + +With these words, he suddenly wheeled the table aside, and pulling an +iron ring in the boarding, threw back a large trap-door which opened +close at Mr. Bumble’s feet, and caused that gentleman to retire several +paces backward, with great precipitation. + +“Look down,” said Monks, lowering the lantern into the gulf. “Don’t +fear me. I could have let you down, quietly enough, when you were +seated over it, if that had been my game.” + +Thus encouraged, the matron drew near to the brink; and even Mr. Bumble +himself, impelled by curiousity, ventured to do the same. The turbid +water, swollen by the heavy rain, was rushing rapidly on below; and all +other sounds were lost in the noise of its plashing and eddying against +the green and slimy piles. There had once been a water-mill beneath; +the tide foaming and chafing round the few rotten stakes, and fragments +of machinery that yet remained, seemed to dart onward, with a new +impulse, when freed from the obstacles which had unavailingly attempted +to stem its headlong course. + +“If you flung a man’s body down there, where would it be tomorrow +morning?” said Monks, swinging the lantern to and fro in the dark well. + +“Twelve miles down the river, and cut to pieces besides,” replied +Bumble, recoiling at the thought. + +Monks drew the little packet from his breast, where he had hurriedly +thrust it; and tying it to a leaden weight, which had formed a part of +some pulley, and was lying on the floor, dropped it into the stream. It +fell straight, and true as a die; clove the water with a scarcely +audible splash; and was gone. + +The three looking into each other’s faces, seemed to breathe more +freely. + +“There!” said Monks, closing the trap-door, which fell heavily back +into its former position. “If the sea ever gives up its dead, as books +say it will, it will keep its gold and silver to itself, and that trash +among it. We have nothing more to say, and may break up our pleasant +party.” + +“By all means,” observed Mr. Bumble, with great alacrity. + +“You’ll keep a quiet tongue in your head, will you?” said Monks, with a +threatening look. “I am not afraid of your wife.” + +“You may depend upon me, young man,” answered Mr. Bumble, bowing +himself gradually towards the ladder, with excessive politeness. “On +everybody’s account, young man; on my own, you know, Mr. Monks.” + +“I am glad, for your sake, to hear it,” remarked Monks. “Light your +lantern! And get away from here as fast as you can.” + +It was fortunate that the conversation terminated at this point, or Mr. +Bumble, who had bowed himself to within six inches of the ladder, would +infallibly have pitched headlong into the room below. He lighted his +lantern from that which Monks had detached from the rope, and now +carried in his hand; and making no effort to prolong the discourse, +descended in silence, followed by his wife. Monks brought up the rear, +after pausing on the steps to satisfy himself that there were no other +sounds to be heard than the beating of the rain without, and the +rushing of the water. + +They traversed the lower room, slowly, and with caution; for Monks +started at every shadow; and Mr. Bumble, holding his lantern a foot +above the ground, walked not only with remarkable care, but with a +marvellously light step for a gentleman of his figure: looking +nervously about him for hidden trap-doors. The gate at which they had +entered, was softly unfastened and opened by Monks; merely exchanging a +nod with their mysterious acquaintance, the married couple emerged into +the wet and darkness outside. + +They were no sooner gone, than Monks, who appeared to entertain an +invincible repugnance to being left alone, called to a boy who had been +hidden somewhere below. Bidding him go first, and bear the light, he +returned to the chamber he had just quitted. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIX. +INTRODUCES SOME RESPECTABLE CHARACTERS WITH WHOM THE READER IS ALREADY +ACQUAINTED, AND SHOWS HOW MONKS AND THE JEW LAID THEIR WORTHY HEADS +TOGETHER + + +On the evening following that upon which the three worthies mentioned +in the last chapter, disposed of their little matter of business as +therein narrated, Mr. William Sikes, awakening from a nap, drowsily +growled forth an inquiry what time of night it was. + +The room in which Mr. Sikes propounded this question, was not one of +those he had tenanted, previous to the Chertsey expedition, although it +was in the same quarter of the town, and was situated at no great +distance from his former lodgings. It was not, in appearance, so +desirable a habitation as his old quarters: being a mean and +badly-furnished apartment, of very limited size; lighted only by one +small window in the shelving roof, and abutting on a close and dirty +lane. Nor were there wanting other indications of the good gentleman’s +having gone down in the world of late: for a great scarcity of +furniture, and total absence of comfort, together with the +disappearance of all such small moveables as spare clothes and linen, +bespoke a state of extreme poverty; while the meagre and attenuated +condition of Mr. Sikes himself would have fully confirmed these +symptoms, if they had stood in any need of corroboration. + +The housebreaker was lying on the bed, wrapped in his white great-coat, +by way of dressing-gown, and displaying a set of features in no degree +improved by the cadaverous hue of illness, and the addition of a soiled +nightcap, and a stiff, black beard of a week’s growth. The dog sat at +the bedside: now eyeing his master with a wistful look, and now +pricking his ears, and uttering a low growl as some noise in the +street, or in the lower part of the house, attracted his attention. +Seated by the window, busily engaged in patching an old waistcoat which +formed a portion of the robber’s ordinary dress, was a female: so pale +and reduced with watching and privation, that there would have been +considerable difficulty in recognising her as the same Nancy who has +already figured in this tale, but for the voice in which she replied to +Mr. Sikes’s question. + +“Not long gone seven,” said the girl. “How do you feel tonight, Bill?” + +“As weak as water,” replied Mr. Sikes, with an imprecation on his eyes +and limbs. “Here; lend us a hand, and let me get off this thundering +bed anyhow.” + +Illness had not improved Mr. Sikes’s temper; for, as the girl raised +him up and led him to a chair, he muttered various curses on her +awkwardness, and struck her. + +“Whining are you?” said Sikes. “Come! Don’t stand snivelling there. If +you can’t do anything better than that, cut off altogether. D’ye hear +me?” + +“I hear you,” replied the girl, turning her face aside, and forcing a +laugh. “What fancy have you got in your head now?” + +“Oh! you’ve thought better of it, have you?” growled Sikes, marking the +tear which trembled in her eye. “All the better for you, you have.” + +“Why, you don’t mean to say, you’d be hard upon me tonight, Bill,” +said the girl, laying her hand upon his shoulder. + +“No!” cried Mr. Sikes. “Why not?” + +“Such a number of nights,” said the girl, with a touch of woman’s +tenderness, which communicated something like sweetness of tone, even +to her voice: “such a number of nights as I’ve been patient with you, +nursing and caring for you, as if you had been a child: and this the +first that I’ve seen you like yourself; you wouldn’t have served me as +you did just now, if you’d thought of that, would you? Come, come; say +you wouldn’t.” + +“Well, then,” rejoined Mr. Sikes, “I wouldn’t. Why, damme, now, the +girls’s whining again!” + +“It’s nothing,” said the girl, throwing herself into a chair. “Don’t +you seem to mind me. It’ll soon be over.” + +“What’ll be over?” demanded Mr. Sikes in a savage voice. “What foolery +are you up to, now, again? Get up and bustle about, and don’t come over +me with your woman’s nonsense.” + +At any other time, this remonstrance, and the tone in which it was +delivered, would have had the desired effect; but the girl being really +weak and exhausted, dropped her head over the back of the chair, and +fainted, before Mr. Sikes could get out a few of the appropriate oaths +with which, on similar occasions, he was accustomed to garnish his +threats. Not knowing, very well, what to do, in this uncommon +emergency; for Miss Nancy’s hysterics were usually of that violent kind +which the patient fights and struggles out of, without much assistance; +Mr. Sikes tried a little blasphemy: and finding that mode of treatment +wholly ineffectual, called for assistance. + +“What’s the matter here, my dear?” said Fagin, looking in. + +“Lend a hand to the girl, can’t you?” replied Sikes impatiently. “Don’t +stand chattering and grinning at me!” + +With an exclamation of surprise, Fagin hastened to the girl’s +assistance, while Mr. John Dawkins (otherwise the Artful Dodger), who +had followed his venerable friend into the room, hastily deposited on +the floor a bundle with which he was laden; and snatching a bottle from +the grasp of Master Charles Bates who came close at his heels, uncorked +it in a twinkling with his teeth, and poured a portion of its contents +down the patient’s throat: previously taking a taste, himself, to +prevent mistakes. + +“Give her a whiff of fresh air with the bellows, Charley,” said Mr. +Dawkins; “and you slap her hands, Fagin, while Bill undoes the +petticuts.” + +These united restoratives, administered with great energy: especially +that department consigned to Master Bates, who appeared to consider his +share in the proceedings, a piece of unexampled pleasantry: were not +long in producing the desired effect. The girl gradually recovered her +senses; and, staggering to a chair by the bedside, hid her face upon +the pillow: leaving Mr. Sikes to confront the new comers, in some +astonishment at their unlooked-for appearance. + +“Why, what evil wind has blowed you here?” he asked Fagin. + +“No evil wind at all, my dear, for evil winds blow nobody any good; and +I’ve brought something good with me, that you’ll be glad to see. +Dodger, my dear, open the bundle; and give Bill the little trifles that +we spent all our money on, this morning.” + +In compliance with Mr. Fagin’s request, the Artful untied this bundle, +which was of large size, and formed of an old table-cloth; and handed +the articles it contained, one by one, to Charley Bates: who placed +them on the table, with various encomiums on their rarity and +excellence. + +“Sitch a rabbit pie, Bill,” exclaimed that young gentleman, disclosing +to view a huge pasty; “sitch delicate creeturs, with sitch tender +limbs, Bill, that the wery bones melt in your mouth, and there’s no +occasion to pick ’em; half a pound of seven and six-penny green, so +precious strong that if you mix it with biling water, it’ll go nigh to +blow the lid of the tea-pot off; a pound and a half of moist sugar that +the niggers didn’t work at all at, afore they got it up to sitch a +pitch of goodness,—oh no! Two half-quartern brans; pound of best fresh; +piece of double Glo’ster; and, to wind up all, some of the richest sort +you ever lushed!” + +Uttering this last panegyric, Master Bates produced, from one of his +extensive pockets, a full-sized wine-bottle, carefully corked; while +Mr. Dawkins, at the same instant, poured out a wine-glassful of raw +spirits from the bottle he carried: which the invalid tossed down his +throat without a moment’s hesitation. + +“Ah!” said Fagin, rubbing his hands with great satisfaction. “You’ll +do, Bill; you’ll do now.” + +“Do!” exclaimed Mr. Sikes; “I might have been done for, twenty times +over, afore you’d have done anything to help me. What do you mean by +leaving a man in this state, three weeks and more, you false-hearted +wagabond?” + +“Only hear him, boys!” said Fagin, shrugging his shoulders. “And us +come to bring him all these beau-ti-ful things.” + +“The things is well enough in their way,” observed Mr. Sikes: a little +soothed as he glanced over the table; “but what have you got to say for +yourself, why you should leave me here, down in the mouth, health, +blunt, and everything else; and take no more notice of me, all this +mortal time, than if I was that ’ere dog.—Drive him down, Charley!” + +“I never see such a jolly dog as that,” cried Master Bates, doing as he +was desired. “Smelling the grub like a old lady a going to market! He’d +make his fortun’ on the stage that dog would, and rewive the drayma +besides.” + +“Hold your din,” cried Sikes, as the dog retreated under the bed: still +growling angrily. “What have you got to say for yourself, you withered +old fence, eh?” + +“I was away from London, a week and more, my dear, on a plant,” replied +the Jew. + +“And what about the other fortnight?” demanded Sikes. “What about the +other fortnight that you’ve left me lying here, like a sick rat in his +hole?” + +“I couldn’t help it, Bill. I can’t go into a long explanation before +company; but I couldn’t help it, upon my honour.” + +“Upon your what?” growled Sikes, with excessive disgust. “Here! Cut me +off a piece of that pie, one of you boys, to take the taste of that out +of my mouth, or it’ll choke me dead.” + +“Don’t be out of temper, my dear,” urged Fagin, submissively. “I have +never forgot you, Bill; never once.” + +“No! I’ll pound it that you han’t,” replied Sikes, with a bitter grin. +“You’ve been scheming and plotting away, every hour that I have laid +shivering and burning here; and Bill was to do this; and Bill was to do +that; and Bill was to do it all, dirt cheap, as soon as he got well: +and was quite poor enough for your work. If it hadn’t been for the +girl, I might have died.” + +“There now, Bill,” remonstrated Fagin, eagerly catching at the word. +“If it hadn’t been for the girl! Who but poor ould Fagin was the means +of your having such a handy girl about you?” + +“He says true enough there!” said Nancy, coming hastily forward. “Let +him be; let him be.” + +Nancy’s appearance gave a new turn to the conversation; for the boys, +receiving a sly wink from the wary old Jew, began to ply her with +liquor: of which, however, she took very sparingly; while Fagin, +assuming an unusual flow of spirits, gradually brought Mr. Sikes into a +better temper, by affecting to regard his threats as a little pleasant +banter; and, moreover, by laughing very heartily at one or two rough +jokes, which, after repeated applications to the spirit-bottle, he +condescended to make. + +“It’s all very well,” said Mr. Sikes; “but I must have some blunt from +you tonight.” + +“I haven’t a piece of coin about me,” replied the Jew. + +“Then you’ve got lots at home,” retorted Sikes; “and I must have some +from there.” + +“Lots!” cried Fagin, holding up his hands. “I haven’t so much as would—” + +“I don’t know how much you’ve got, and I dare say you hardly know +yourself, as it would take a pretty long time to count it,” said Sikes; +“but I must have some tonight; and that’s flat.” + +“Well, well,” said Fagin, with a sigh, “I’ll send the Artful round +presently.” + +“You won’t do nothing of the kind,” rejoined Mr. Sikes. “The Artful’s a +deal too artful, and would forget to come, or lose his way, or get +dodged by traps and so be perwented, or anything for an excuse, if you +put him up to it. Nancy shall go to the ken and fetch it, to make all +sure; and I’ll lie down and have a snooze while she’s gone.” + +After a great deal of haggling and squabbling, Fagin beat down the +amount of the required advance from five pounds to three pounds four +and sixpence: protesting with many solemn asseverations that that would +only leave him eighteen-pence to keep house with; Mr. Sikes sullenly +remarking that if he couldn’t get any more he must accompany him home; +with the Dodger and Master Bates put the eatables in the cupboard. The +Jew then, taking leave of his affectionate friend, returned homeward, +attended by Nancy and the boys: Mr. Sikes, meanwhile, flinging himself +on the bed, and composing himself to sleep away the time until the +young lady’s return. + +In due course, they arrived at Fagin’s abode, where they found Toby +Crackit and Mr. Chitling intent upon their fifteenth game at cribbage, +which it is scarcely necessary to say the latter gentleman lost, and +with it, his fifteenth and last sixpence: much to the amusement of his +young friends. Mr. Crackit, apparently somewhat ashamed at being found +relaxing himself with a gentleman so much his inferior in station and +mental endowments, yawned, and inquiring after Sikes, took up his hat +to go. + +“Has nobody been, Toby?” asked Fagin. + +“Not a living leg,” answered Mr. Crackit, pulling up his collar; “it’s +been as dull as swipes. You ought to stand something handsome, Fagin, +to recompense me for keeping house so long. Damme, I’m as flat as a +juryman; and should have gone to sleep, as fast as Newgate, if I hadn’t +had the good natur’ to amuse this youngster. Horrid dull, I’m blessed +if I an’t!” + +With these and other ejaculations of the same kind, Mr. Toby Crackit +swept up his winnings, and crammed them into his waistcoat pocket with +a haughty air, as though such small pieces of silver were wholly +beneath the consideration of a man of his figure; this done, he +swaggered out of the room, with so much elegance and gentility, that +Mr. Chitling, bestowing numerous admiring glances on his legs and boots +till they were out of sight, assured the company that he considered his +acquaintance cheap at fifteen sixpences an interview, and that he +didn’t value his losses the snap of his little finger. + +“Wot a rum chap you are, Tom!” said Master Bates, highly amused by this +declaration. + +“Not a bit of it,” replied Mr. Chitling. “Am I, Fagin?” + +“A very clever fellow, my dear,” said Fagin, patting him on the +shoulder, and winking to his other pupils. + +“And Mr. Crackit is a heavy swell; an’t he, Fagin?” asked Tom. + +“No doubt at all of that, my dear.” + +“And it is a creditable thing to have his acquaintance; an’t it, +Fagin?” pursued Tom. + +“Very much so, indeed, my dear. They’re only jealous, Tom, because he +won’t give it to them.” + +“Ah!” cried Tom, triumphantly, “that’s where it is! He has cleaned me +out. But I can go and earn some more, when I like; can’t I, Fagin?” + +“To be sure you can, and the sooner you go the better, Tom; so make up +your loss at once, and don’t lose any more time. Dodger! Charley! It’s +time you were on the lay. Come! It’s near ten, and nothing done yet.” + +In obedience to this hint, the boys, nodding to Nancy, took up their +hats, and left the room; the Dodger and his vivacious friend indulging, +as they went, in many witticisms at the expense of Mr. Chitling; in +whose conduct, it is but justice to say, there was nothing very +conspicuous or peculiar: inasmuch as there are a great number of +spirited young bloods upon town, who pay a much higher price than Mr. +Chitling for being seen in good society: and a great number of fine +gentlemen (composing the good society aforesaid) who established their +reputation upon very much the same footing as flash Toby Crackit. + +“Now,” said Fagin, when they had left the room, “I’ll go and get you +that cash, Nancy. This is only the key of a little cupboard where I +keep a few odd things the boys get, my dear. I never lock up my money, +for I’ve got none to lock up, my dear—ha! ha! ha!—none to lock up. It’s +a poor trade, Nancy, and no thanks; but I’m fond of seeing the young +people about me; and I bear it all, I bear it all. Hush!” he said, +hastily concealing the key in his breast; “who’s that? Listen!” + +The girl, who was sitting at the table with her arms folded, appeared +in no way interested in the arrival: or to care whether the person, +whoever he was, came or went: until the murmur of a man’s voice reached +her ears. The instant she caught the sound, she tore off her bonnet and +shawl, with the rapidity of lightning, and thrust them under the table. +The Jew, turning round immediately afterwards, she muttered a complaint +of the heat: in a tone of languor that contrasted, very remarkably, +with the extreme haste and violence of this action: which, however, had +been unobserved by Fagin, who had his back towards her at the time. + +“Bah!” he whispered, as though nettled by the interruption; “it’s the +man I expected before; he’s coming downstairs. Not a word about the +money while he’s here, Nance. He won’t stop long. Not ten minutes, my +dear.” + +Laying his skinny forefinger upon his lip, the Jew carried a candle to +the door, as a man’s step was heard upon the stairs without. He reached +it, at the same moment as the visitor, who, coming hastily into the +room, was close upon the girl before he observed her. + +It was Monks. + +“Only one of my young people,” said Fagin, observing that Monks drew +back, on beholding a stranger. “Don’t move, Nancy.” + +The girl drew closer to the table, and glancing at Monks with an air of +careless levity, withdrew her eyes; but as he turned towards Fagin, she +stole another look; so keen and searching, and full of purpose, that if +there had been any bystander to observe the change, he could hardly +have believed the two looks to have proceeded from the same person. + +“Any news?” inquired Fagin. + +“Great.” + +“And—and—good?” asked Fagin, hesitating as though he feared to vex the +other man by being too sanguine. + +“Not bad, any way,” replied Monks with a smile. “I have been prompt +enough this time. Let me have a word with you.” + +The girl drew closer to the table, and made no offer to leave the room, +although she could see that Monks was pointing to her. The Jew: perhaps +fearing she might say something aloud about the money, if he +endeavoured to get rid of her: pointed upward, and took Monks out of +the room. + +“Not that infernal hole we were in before,” she could hear the man say +as they went upstairs. Fagin laughed; and making some reply which did +not reach her, seemed, by the creaking of the boards, to lead his +companion to the second story. + +Before the sound of their footsteps had ceased to echo through the +house, the girl had slipped off her shoes; and drawing her gown loosely +over her head, and muffling her arms in it, stood at the door, +listening with breathless interest. The moment the noise ceased, she +glided from the room; ascended the stairs with incredible softness and +silence; and was lost in the gloom above. + +The room remained deserted for a quarter of an hour or more; the girl +glided back with the same unearthly tread; and, immediately afterwards, +the two men were heard descending. Monks went at once into the street; +and the Jew crawled upstairs again for the money. When he returned, the +girl was adjusting her shawl and bonnet, as if preparing to be gone. + +“Why, Nance!” exclaimed the Jew, starting back as he put down the +candle, “how pale you are!” + +“Pale!” echoed the girl, shading her eyes with her hands, as if to look +steadily at him. + +“Quite horrible. What have you been doing to yourself?” + +“Nothing that I know of, except sitting in this close place for I don’t +know how long and all,” replied the girl carelessly. “Come! Let me get +back; that’s a dear.” + +With a sigh for every piece of money, Fagin told the amount into her +hand. They parted without more conversation, merely interchanging a +“good-night.” + +When the girl got into the open street, she sat down upon a doorstep; +and seemed, for a few moments, wholly bewildered and unable to pursue +her way. Suddenly she arose; and hurrying on, in a direction quite +opposite to that in which Sikes was awaiting her return, quickened +her pace, until it gradually resolved into a violent run. After +completely exhausting herself, she stopped to take breath: and, as if +suddenly recollecting herself, and deploring her inability to do +something she was bent upon, wrung her hands, and burst into tears. + +It might be that her tears relieved her, or that she felt the full +hopelessness of her condition; but she turned back; and hurrying with +nearly as great rapidity in the contrary direction; partly to recover +lost time, and partly to keep pace with the violent current of her own +thoughts: soon reached the dwelling where she had left the +housebreaker. + +If she betrayed any agitation, when she presented herself to Mr. Sikes, +he did not observe it; for merely inquiring if she had brought the +money, and receiving a reply in the affirmative, he uttered a growl of +satisfaction, and replacing his head upon the pillow, resumed the +slumbers which her arrival had interrupted. + +It was fortunate for her that the possession of money occasioned him so +much employment next day in the way of eating and drinking; and withal +had so beneficial an effect in smoothing down the asperities of his +temper; that he had neither time nor inclination to be very critical +upon her behaviour and deportment. That she had all the abstracted and +nervous manner of one who is on the eve of some bold and hazardous +step, which it has required no common struggle to resolve upon, would +have been obvious to the lynx-eyed Fagin, who would most probably have +taken the alarm at once; but Mr. Sikes lacking the niceties of +discrimination, and being troubled with no more subtle misgivings than +those which resolve themselves into a dogged roughness of behaviour +towards everybody; and being, furthermore, in an unusually amiable +condition, as has been already observed; saw nothing unusual in her +demeanor, and indeed, troubled himself so little about her, that, had +her agitation been far more perceptible than it was, it would have been +very unlikely to have awakened his suspicions. + +As that day closed in, the girl’s excitement increased; and, when night +came on, and she sat by, watching until the housebreaker should drink +himself asleep, there was an unusual paleness in her cheek, and a fire +in her eye, that even Sikes observed with astonishment. + +Mr. Sikes being weak from the fever, was lying in bed, taking hot water +with his gin to render it less inflammatory; and had pushed his glass +towards Nancy to be replenished for the third or fourth time, when +these symptoms first struck him. + +“Why, burn my body!” said the man, raising himself on his hands as he +stared the girl in the face. “You look like a corpse come to life +again. What’s the matter?” + +“Matter!” replied the girl. “Nothing. What do you look at me so hard +for?” + +“What foolery is this?” demanded Sikes, grasping her by the arm, and +shaking her roughly. “What is it? What do you mean? What are you +thinking of?” + +“Of many things, Bill,” replied the girl, shivering, and as she did so, +pressing her hands upon her eyes. “But, Lord! What odds in that?” + +The tone of forced gaiety in which the last words were spoken, seemed +to produce a deeper impression on Sikes than the wild and rigid look +which had preceded them. + +“I tell you wot it is,” said Sikes; “if you haven’t caught the fever, +and got it comin’ on, now, there’s something more than usual in the +wind, and something dangerous too. You’re not a-going to—. No, damme! +you wouldn’t do that!” + +“Do what?” asked the girl. + +“There ain’t,” said Sikes, fixing his eyes upon her, and muttering the +words to himself; “there ain’t a stauncher-hearted gal going, or I’d +have cut her throat three months ago. She’s got the fever coming on; +that’s it.” + +Fortifying himself with this assurance, Sikes drained the glass to the +bottom, and then, with many grumbling oaths, called for his physic. The +girl jumped up, with great alacrity; poured it quickly out, but with +her back towards him; and held the vessel to his lips, while he drank +off the contents. + +“Now,” said the robber, “come and sit aside of me, and put on your own +face; or I’ll alter it so, that you won’t know it agin when you do want +it.” + +The girl obeyed. Sikes, locking her hand in his, fell back upon the +pillow: turning his eyes upon her face. They closed; opened again; +closed once more; again opened. He shifted his position restlessly; +and, after dozing again, and again, for two or three minutes, and as +often springing up with a look of terror, and gazing vacantly about +him, was suddenly stricken, as it were, while in the very attitude of +rising, into a deep and heavy sleep. The grasp of his hand relaxed; the +upraised arm fell languidly by his side; and he lay like one in a +profound trance. + +“The laudanum has taken effect at last,” murmured the girl, as she rose +from the bedside. “I may be too late, even now.” + +She hastily dressed herself in her bonnet and shawl: looking fearfully +round, from time to time, as if, despite the sleeping draught, she +expected every moment to feel the pressure of Sikes’s heavy hand upon +her shoulder; then, stooping softly over the bed, she kissed the +robber’s lips; and then opening and closing the room-door with +noiseless touch, hurried from the house. + +A watchman was crying half-past nine, down a dark passage through which +she had to pass, in gaining the main thoroughfare. + +“Has it long gone the half-hour?” asked the girl. + +“It’ll strike the hour in another quarter,” said the man: raising his +lantern to her face. + +“And I cannot get there in less than an hour or more,” muttered Nancy: +brushing swiftly past him, and gliding rapidly down the street. + +Many of the shops were already closing in the back lanes and avenues +through which she tracked her way, in making from Spitalfields towards +the West-End of London. The clock struck ten, increasing her +impatience. She tore along the narrow pavement: elbowing the passengers +from side to side; and darting almost under the horses’ heads, crossed +crowded streets, where clusters of persons were eagerly watching their +opportunity to do the like. + +“The woman is mad!” said the people, turning to look after her as she +rushed away. + +When she reached the more wealthy quarter of the town, the streets were +comparatively deserted; and here her headlong progress excited a still +greater curiosity in the stragglers whom she hurried past. Some +quickened their pace behind, as though to see whither she was hastening +at such an unusual rate; and a few made head upon her, and looked back, +surprised at her undiminished speed; but they fell off one by one; and +when she neared her place of destination, she was alone. + +It was a family hotel in a quiet but handsome street near Hyde Park. As +the brilliant light of the lamp which burnt before its door, guided her +to the spot, the clock struck eleven. She had loitered for a few paces +as though irresolute, and making up her mind to advance; but the sound +determined her, and she stepped into the hall. The porter’s seat was +vacant. She looked round with an air of incertitude, and advanced +towards the stairs. + +“Now, young woman!” said a smartly-dressed female, looking out from a +door behind her, “who do you want here?” + +“A lady who is stopping in this house,” answered the girl. + +“A lady!” was the reply, accompanied with a scornful look. “What lady?” + +“Miss Maylie,” said Nancy. + +The young woman, who had by this time, noted her appearance, replied +only by a look of virtuous disdain; and summoned a man to answer her. +To him, Nancy repeated her request. + +“What name am I to say?” asked the waiter. + +“It’s of no use saying any,” replied Nancy. + +“Nor business?” said the man. + +“No, nor that neither,” rejoined the girl. “I must see the lady.” + +“Come!” said the man, pushing her towards the door. “None of this. Take +yourself off.” + +“I shall be carried out if I go!” said the girl violently; “and I can +make that a job that two of you won’t like to do. Isn’t there anybody +here,” she said, looking round, “that will see a simple message carried +for a poor wretch like me?” + +This appeal produced an effect on a good-tempered-faced man-cook, who +with some of the other servants was looking on, and who stepped forward +to interfere. + +“Take it up for her, Joe; can’t you?” said this person. + +“What’s the good?” replied the man. “You don’t suppose the young lady +will see such as her; do you?” + +This allusion to Nancy’s doubtful character, raised a vast quantity of +chaste wrath in the bosoms of four housemaids, who remarked, with great +fervour, that the creature was a disgrace to her sex; and strongly +advocated her being thrown, ruthlessly, into the kennel. + +“Do what you like with me,” said the girl, turning to the men again; +“but do what I ask you first, and I ask you to give this message for +God Almighty’s sake.” + +The soft-hearted cook added his intercession, and the result was that +the man who had first appeared undertook its delivery. + +“What’s it to be?” said the man, with one foot on the stairs. + +“That a young woman earnestly asks to speak to Miss Maylie alone,” said +Nancy; “and that if the lady will only hear the first word she has to +say, she will know whether to hear her business, or to have her turned +out of doors as an impostor.” + +“I say,” said the man, “you’re coming it strong!” + +“You give the message,” said the girl firmly; “and let me hear the +answer.” + +The man ran upstairs. Nancy remained, pale and almost breathless, +listening with quivering lip to the very audible expressions of scorn, +of which the chaste housemaids were very prolific; and of which they +became still more so, when the man returned, and said the young woman +was to walk upstairs. + +“It’s no good being proper in this world,” said the first housemaid. + +“Brass can do better than the gold what has stood the fire,” said the +second. + +The third contented herself with wondering “what ladies was made of”; +and the fourth took the first in a quartette of “Shameful!” with which +the Dianas concluded. + +Regardless of all this: for she had weightier matters at heart: Nancy +followed the man, with trembling limbs, to a small ante-chamber, +lighted by a lamp from the ceiling. Here he left her, and retired. + + + + + CHAPTER XL. +A STRANGE INTERVIEW, WHICH IS A SEQUEL TO THE LAST CHAMBER + + +The girl’s life had been squandered in the streets, and among the most +noisome of the stews and dens of London, but there was something of the +woman’s original nature left in her still; and when she heard a light +step approaching the door opposite to that by which she had entered, +and thought of the wide contrast which the small room would in another +moment contain, she felt burdened with the sense of her own deep shame, +and shrunk as though she could scarcely bear the presence of her with +whom she had sought this interview. + +But struggling with these better feelings was pride,—the vice of the +lowest and most debased creatures no less than of the high and +self-assured. The miserable companion of thieves and ruffians, the +fallen outcast of low haunts, the associate of the scourings of the +jails and hulks, living within the shadow of the gallows itself,—even +this degraded being felt too proud to betray a feeble gleam of the +womanly feeling which she thought a weakness, but which alone connected +her with that humanity, of which her wasting life had obliterated so +many, many traces when a very child. + +She raised her eyes sufficiently to observe that the figure which +presented itself was that of a slight and beautiful girl; then, bending +them on the ground, she tossed her head with affected carelessness as +she said: + +“It’s a hard matter to get to see you, lady. If I had taken offence, +and gone away, as many would have done, you’d have been sorry for it +one day, and not without reason either.” + +“I am very sorry if any one has behaved harshly to you,” replied Rose. +“Do not think of that. Tell me why you wished to see me. I am the +person you inquired for.” + +The kind tone of this answer, the sweet voice, the gentle manner, the +absence of any accent of haughtiness or displeasure, took the girl +completely by surprise, and she burst into tears. + +“Oh, lady, lady!” she said, clasping her hands passionately before her +face, “if there was more like you, there would be fewer like me,—there +would—there would!” + +“Sit down,” said Rose, earnestly. “If you are in poverty or affliction +I shall be truly glad to relieve you if I can,—I shall indeed. Sit +down.” + +“Let me stand, lady,” said the girl, still weeping, “and do not speak +to me so kindly till you know me better. It is growing late. Is—is—that +door shut?” + +“Yes,” said Rose, recoiling a few steps, as if to be nearer assistance +in case she should require it. “Why?” + +“Because,” said the girl, “I am about to put my life and the lives of +others in your hands. I am the girl that dragged little Oliver back to +old Fagin’s on the night he went out from the house in Pentonville.” + +“You!” said Rose Maylie. + +“I, lady!” replied the girl. “I am the infamous creature you have heard +of, that lives among the thieves, and that never from the first moment +I can recollect my eyes and senses opening on London streets have known +any better life, or kinder words than they have given me, so help me +God! Do not mind shrinking openly from me, lady. I am younger than you +would think, to look at me, but I am well used to it. The poorest women +fall back, as I make my way along the crowded pavement.” + +“What dreadful things are these!” said Rose, involuntarily falling from +her strange companion. + +“Thank Heaven upon your knees, dear lady,” cried the girl, “that you +had friends to care for and keep you in your childhood, and that you +were never in the midst of cold and hunger, and riot and drunkenness, +and—and—something worse than all—as I have been from my cradle. I may +use the word, for the alley and the gutter were mine, as they will be +my deathbed.” + +“I pity you!” said Rose, in a broken voice. “It wrings my heart to hear +you!” + +“Heaven bless you for your goodness!” rejoined the girl. “If you knew +what I am sometimes, you would pity me, indeed. But I have stolen away +from those who would surely murder me, if they knew I had been here, to +tell you what I have overheard. Do you know a man named Monks?” + +“No,” said Rose. + +“He knows you,” replied the girl; “and knew you were here, for it was +by hearing him tell the place that I found you out.” + +“I never heard the name,” said Rose. + +“Then he goes by some other amongst us,” rejoined the girl, “which I +more than thought before. Some time ago, and soon after Oliver was put +into your house on the night of the robbery, I—suspecting this +man—listened to a conversation held between him and Fagin in the dark. +I found out, from what I heard, that Monks—the man I asked you about, +you know—” + +“Yes,” said Rose, “I understand.” + +“—That Monks,” pursued the girl, “had seen him accidently with two of +our boys on the day we first lost him, and had known him directly to be +the same child that he was watching for, though I couldn’t make out +why. A bargain was struck with Fagin, that if Oliver was got back he +should have a certain sum; and he was to have more for making him a +thief, which this Monks wanted for some purpose of his own.” + +“For what purpose?” asked Rose. + +“He caught sight of my shadow on the wall as I listened, in the hope of +finding out,” said the girl; “and there are not many people besides me +that could have got out of their way in time to escape discovery. But I +did; and I saw him no more till last night.” + +“And what occurred then?” + +“I’ll tell you, lady. Last night he came again. Again they went +upstairs, and I, wrapping myself up so that my shadow would not betray +me, again listened at the door. The first words I heard Monks say were +these: ‘So the only proofs of the boy’s identity lie at the bottom of +the river, and the old hag that received them from the mother is +rotting in her coffin.’ They laughed, and talked of his success in +doing this; and Monks, talking on about the boy, and getting very wild, +said that though he had got the young devil’s money safely now, he’d +rather have had it the other way; for, what a game it would have been +to have brought down the boast of the father’s will, by driving him +through every jail in town, and then hauling him up for some capital +felony which Fagin could easily manage, after having made a good profit +of him besides.” + +“What is all this!” said Rose. + +“The truth, lady, though it comes from my lips,” replied the girl. +“Then, he said, with oaths common enough in my ears, but strange to +yours, that if he could gratify his hatred by taking the boy’s life +without bringing his own neck in danger, he would; but, as he couldn’t, +he’d be upon the watch to meet him at every turn in life; and if he +took advantage of his birth and history, he might harm him yet. ‘In +short, Fagin,’ he says, ‘Jew as you are, you never laid such snares as +I’ll contrive for my young brother, Oliver.’” + +“His brother!” exclaimed Rose. + +“Those were his words,” said Nancy, glancing uneasily round, as she had +scarcely ceased to do, since she began to speak, for a vision of Sikes +haunted her perpetually. “And more. When he spoke of you and the other +lady, and said it seemed contrived by Heaven, or the devil, against +him, that Oliver should come into your hands, he laughed, and said +there was some comfort in that too, for how many thousands and hundreds +of thousands of pounds would you not give, if you had them, to know who +your two-legged spaniel was.” + +“You do not mean,” said Rose, turning very pale, “to tell me that this +was said in earnest?” + +“He spoke in hard and angry earnest, if a man ever did,” replied the +girl, shaking her head. “He is an earnest man when his hatred is up. I +know many who do worse things; but I’d rather listen to them all a +dozen times, than to that Monks once. It is growing late, and I have to +reach home without suspicion of having been on such an errand as this. +I must get back quickly.” + +“But what can I do?” said Rose. “To what use can I turn this +communication without you? Back! Why do you wish to return to +companions you paint in such terrible colors? If you repeat this +information to a gentleman whom I can summon in an instant from the +next room, you can be consigned to some place of safety without half an +hour’s delay.” + +“I wish to go back,” said the girl. “I must go back, because—how can I +tell such things to an innocent lady like you?—because among the men I +have told you of, there is one: the most desperate among them all; that +I can’t leave: no, not even to be saved from the life I am leading +now.” + +“Your having interfered in this dear boy’s behalf before,” said Rose; +“your coming here, at so great a risk, to tell me what you have heard; +your manner, which convinces me of the truth of what you say; your +evident contrition, and sense of shame; all lead me to believe that you +might yet be reclaimed. Oh!” said the earnest girl, folding her hands +as the tears coursed down her face, “do not turn a deaf ear to the +entreaties of one of your own sex; the first—the first, I do believe, +who ever appealed to you in the voice of pity and compassion. Do hear +my words, and let me save you yet, for better things.” + +“Lady,” cried the girl, sinking on her knees, “dear, sweet, angel lady, +you _are_ the first that ever blessed me with such words as these, and +if I had heard them years ago, they might have turned me from a life of +sin and sorrow; but it is too late, it is too late!” + +“It is never too late,” said Rose, “for penitence and atonement.” + +“It is,” cried the girl, writhing in agony of her mind; “I cannot leave +him now! I could not be his death.” + +“Why should you be?” asked Rose. + +“Nothing could save him,” cried the girl. “If I told others what I have +told you, and led to their being taken, he would be sure to die. He is +the boldest, and has been so cruel!” + +“Is it possible,” cried Rose, “that for such a man as this, you can +resign every future hope, and the certainty of immediate rescue? It is +madness.” + +“I don’t know what it is,” answered the girl; “I only know that it is +so, and not with me alone, but with hundreds of others as bad and +wretched as myself. I must go back. Whether it is God’s wrath for the +wrong I have done, I do not know; but I am drawn back to him through +every suffering and ill usage; and I should be, I believe, if I knew +that I was to die by his hand at last.” + +“What am I to do?” said Rose. “I should not let you depart from me +thus.” + +“You should, lady, and I know you will,” rejoined the girl, rising. +“You will not stop my going because I have trusted in your goodness, +and forced no promise from you, as I might have done.” + +“Of what use, then, is the communication you have made?” said Rose. +“This mystery must be investigated, or how will its disclosure to me, +benefit Oliver, whom you are anxious to serve?” + +“You must have some kind gentleman about you that will hear it as a +secret, and advise you what to do,” rejoined the girl. + +“But where can I find you again when it is necessary?” asked Rose. “I +do not seek to know where these dreadful people live, but where will +you be walking or passing at any settled period from this time?” + +“Will you promise me that you will have my secret strictly kept, and +come alone, or with the only other person that knows it; and that I +shall not be watched or followed?” asked the girl. + +“I promise you solemnly,” answered Rose. + +“Every Sunday night, from eleven until the clock strikes twelve,” said +the girl without hesitation, “I will walk on London Bridge if I am +alive.” + +“Stay another moment,” interposed Rose, as the girl moved hurriedly +towards the door. “Think once again on your own condition, and the +opportunity you have of escaping from it. You have a claim on me: not +only as the voluntary bearer of this intelligence, but as a woman lost +almost beyond redemption. Will you return to this gang of robbers, and +to this man, when a word can save you? What fascination is it that can +take you back, and make you cling to wickedness and misery? Oh! is +there no chord in your heart that I can touch! Is there nothing left, +to which I can appeal against this terrible infatuation!” + +“When ladies as young, and good, and beautiful as you are,” replied the +girl steadily, “give away your hearts, love will carry you all +lengths—even such as you, who have home, friends, other admirers, +everything, to fill them. When such as I, who have no certain roof but +the coffinlid, and no friend in sickness or death but the hospital +nurse, set our rotten hearts on any man, and let him fill the place +that has been a blank through all our wretched lives, who can hope to +cure us? Pity us, lady—pity us for having only one feeling of the woman +left, and for having that turned, by a heavy judgment, from a comfort +and a pride, into a new means of violence and suffering.” + +“You will,” said Rose, after a pause, “take some money from me, which +may enable you to live without dishonesty—at all events until we meet +again?” + +“Not a penny,” replied the girl, waving her hand. + +“Do not close your heart against all my efforts to help you,” said +Rose, stepping gently forward. “I wish to serve you indeed.” + +“You would serve me best, lady,” replied the girl, wringing her hands, +“if you could take my life at once; for I have felt more grief to think +of what I am, tonight, than I ever did before, and it would be +something not to die in the hell in which I have lived. God bless you, +sweet lady, and send as much happiness on your head as I have brought +shame on mine!” + +Thus speaking, and sobbing aloud, the unhappy creature turned away; +while Rose Maylie, overpowered by this extraordinary interview, which +had more the semblance of a rapid dream than an actual occurrence, sank +into a chair, and endeavoured to collect her wandering thoughts. + + + + + CHAPTER XLI. +CONTAINING FRESH DISCOVERIES, AND SHOWING THAT SUPRISES, LIKE +MISFORTUNES, SELDOM COME ALONE + + +Her situation was, indeed, one of no common trial and difficulty. While +she felt the most eager and burning desire to penetrate the mystery in +which Oliver’s history was enveloped, she could not but hold sacred the +confidence which the miserable woman with whom she had just conversed, +had reposed in her, as a young and guileless girl. Her words and manner +had touched Rose Maylie’s heart; and, mingled with her love for her +young charge, and scarcely less intense in its truth and fervour, was +her fond wish to win the outcast back to repentance and hope. + +They purposed remaining in London only three days, prior to departing +for some weeks to a distant part of the coast. It was now midnight of +the first day. What course of action could she determine upon, which +could be adopted in eight-and-forty hours? Or how could she postpone +the journey without exciting suspicion? + +Mr. Losberne was with them, and would be for the next two days; but +Rose was too well acquainted with the excellent gentleman’s +impetuosity, and foresaw too clearly the wrath with which, in the first +explosion of his indignation, he would regard the instrument of +Oliver’s recapture, to trust him with the secret, when her +representations in the girl’s behalf could be seconded by no +experienced person. These were all reasons for the greatest caution and +most circumspect behaviour in communicating it to Mrs. Maylie, whose +first impulse would infallibly be to hold a conference with the worthy +doctor on the subject. As to resorting to any legal adviser, even if +she had known how to do so, it was scarcely to be thought of, for the +same reason. Once the thought occurred to her of seeking assistance +from Harry; but this awakened the recollection of their last parting, +and it seemed unworthy of her to call him back, when—the tears rose to +her eyes as she pursued this train of reflection—he might have by this +time learnt to forget her, and to be happier away. + +Disturbed by these different reflections; inclining now to one course +and then to another, and again recoiling from all, as each successive +consideration presented itself to her mind; Rose passed a sleepless and +anxious night. After more communing with herself next day, she arrived +at the desperate conclusion of consulting Harry. + +“If it be painful to him,” she thought, “to come back here, how painful +it will be to me! But perhaps he will not come; he may write, or he may +come himself, and studiously abstain from meeting me—he did when he +went away. I hardly thought he would; but it was better for us both.” +And here Rose dropped the pen, and turned away, as though the very +paper which was to be her messenger should not see her weep. + +She had taken up the same pen, and laid it down again fifty times, and +had considered and reconsidered the first line of her letter without +writing the first word, when Oliver, who had been walking in the +streets, with Mr. Giles for a body-guard, entered the room in such +breathless haste and violent agitation, as seemed to betoken some new +cause of alarm. + +“What makes you look so flurried?” asked Rose, advancing to meet him. + +“I hardly know how; I feel as if I should be choked,” replied the boy. +“Oh dear! To think that I should see him at last, and you should be +able to know that I have told you the truth!” + +“I never thought you had told us anything but the truth,” said Rose, +soothing him. “But what is this?—of whom do you speak?” + +“I have seen the gentleman,” replied Oliver, scarcely able to +articulate, “the gentleman who was so good to me—Mr. Brownlow, that we +have so often talked about.” + +“Where?” asked Rose. + +“Getting out of a coach,” replied Oliver, shedding tears of delight, +“and going into a house. I didn’t speak to him—I couldn’t speak to him, +for he didn’t see me, and I trembled so, that I was not able to go up +to him. But Giles asked, for me, whether he lived there, and they said +he did. Look here,” said Oliver, opening a scrap of paper, “here it is; +here’s where he lives—I’m going there directly! Oh, dear me, dear me! +What shall I do when I come to see him and hear him speak again!” + +With her attention not a little distracted by these and a great many +other incoherent exclamations of joy, Rose read the address, which was +Craven Street, in the Strand. She very soon determined upon turning the +discovery to account. + +“Quick!” she said. “Tell them to fetch a hackney-coach, and be ready to +go with me. I will take you there directly, without a minute’s loss of +time. I will only tell my aunt that we are going out for an hour, and +be ready as soon as you are.” + +Oliver needed no prompting to despatch, and in little more than five +minutes they were on their way to Craven Street. When they arrived +there, Rose left Oliver in the coach, under pretence of preparing the +old gentleman to receive him; and sending up her card by the servant, +requested to see Mr. Brownlow on very pressing business. The servant +soon returned, to beg that she would walk upstairs; and following him +into an upper room, Miss Maylie was presented to an elderly gentleman +of benevolent appearance, in a bottle-green coat. At no great distance +from whom, was seated another old gentleman, in nankeen breeches and +gaiters; who did not look particularly benevolent, and who was sitting +with his hands clasped on the top of a thick stick, and his chin +propped thereupon. + +“Dear me,” said the gentleman, in the bottle-green coat, hastily rising +with great politeness, “I beg your pardon, young lady—I imagined it was +some importunate person who—I beg you will excuse me. Be seated, pray.” + +“Mr. Brownlow, I believe, sir?” said Rose, glancing from the other +gentleman to the one who had spoken. + +“That is my name,” said the old gentleman. “This is my friend, Mr. +Grimwig. Grimwig, will you leave us for a few minutes?” + +“I believe,” interposed Miss Maylie, “that at this period of our +interview, I need not give that gentleman the trouble of going away. If +I am correctly informed, he is cognizant of the business on which I +wish to speak to you.” + +Mr. Brownlow inclined his head. Mr. Grimwig, who had made one very +stiff bow, and risen from his chair, made another very stiff bow, and +dropped into it again. + +“I shall surprise you very much, I have no doubt,” said Rose, naturally +embarrassed; “but you once showed great benevolence and goodness to a +very dear young friend of mine, and I am sure you will take an interest +in hearing of him again.” + +“Indeed!” said Mr. Brownlow. + +“Oliver Twist you knew him as,” replied Rose. + +The words no sooner escaped her lips, than Mr. Grimwig, who had been +affecting to dip into a large book that lay on the table, upset it with +a great crash, and falling back in his chair, discharged from his +features every expression but one of unmitigated wonder, and indulged +in a prolonged and vacant stare; then, as if ashamed of having betrayed +so much emotion, he jerked himself, as it were, by a convulsion into +his former attitude, and looking out straight before him emitted a long +deep whistle, which seemed, at last, not to be discharged on empty air, +but to die away in the innermost recesses of his stomach. + +Mr. Browlow was no less surprised, although his astonishment was not +expressed in the same eccentric manner. He drew his chair nearer to +Miss Maylie’s, and said, + +“Do me the favour, my dear young lady, to leave entirely out of the +question that goodness and benevolence of which you speak, and of which +nobody else knows anything; and if you have it in your power to produce +any evidence which will alter the unfavourable opinion I was once +induced to entertain of that poor child, in Heaven’s name put me in +possession of it.” + +“A bad one! I’ll eat my head if he is not a bad one,” growled Mr. +Grimwig, speaking by some ventriloquial power, without moving a muscle +of his face. + +“He is a child of a noble nature and a warm heart,” said Rose, +colouring; “and that Power which has thought fit to try him beyond his +years, has planted in his breast affections and feelings which would do +honour to many who have numbered his days six times over.” + +“I’m only sixty-one,” said Mr. Grimwig, with the same rigid face. “And, +as the devil’s in it if this Oliver is not twelve years old at least, I +don’t see the application of that remark.” + +“Do not heed my friend, Miss Maylie,” said Mr. Brownlow; “he does not +mean what he says.” + +“Yes, he does,” growled Mr. Grimwig. + +“No, he does not,” said Mr. Brownlow, obviously rising in wrath as he +spoke. + +“He’ll eat his head, if he doesn’t,” growled Mr. Grimwig. + +“He would deserve to have it knocked off, if he does,” said Mr. +Brownlow. + +“And he’d uncommonly like to see any man offer to do it,” responded Mr. +Grimwig, knocking his stick upon the floor. + +Having gone thus far, the two old gentlemen severally took snuff, and +afterwards shook hands, according to their invariable custom. + +“Now, Miss Maylie,” said Mr. Brownlow, “to return to the subject in +which your humanity is so much interested. Will you let me know what +intelligence you have of this poor child: allowing me to promise that I +exhausted every means in my power of discovering him, and that since I +have been absent from this country, my first impression that he had +imposed upon me, and had been persuaded by his former associates to rob +me, has been considerably shaken.” + +Rose, who had had time to collect her thoughts, at once related, in a +few natural words, all that had befallen Oliver since he left Mr. +Brownlow’s house; reserving Nancy’s information for that gentleman’s +private ear, and concluding with the assurance that his only sorrow, +for some months past, had been not being able to meet with his former +benefactor and friend. + +“Thank God!” said the old gentleman. “This is great happiness to me, +great happiness. But you have not told me where he is now, Miss Maylie. +You must pardon my finding fault with you,—but why not have brought +him?” + +“He is waiting in a coach at the door,” replied Rose. + +“At this door!” cried the old gentleman. With which he hurried out of +the room, down the stairs, up the coachsteps, and into the coach, +without another word. + +When the room-door closed behind him, Mr. Grimwig lifted up his head, +and converting one of the hind legs of his chair into a pivot, +described three distinct circles with the assistance of his stick and +the table; sitting in it all the time. After performing this evolution, +he rose and limped as fast as he could up and down the room at least a +dozen times, and then stopping suddenly before Rose, kissed her without +the slightest preface. + +“Hush!” he said, as the young lady rose in some alarm at this unusual +proceeding. “Don’t be afraid. I’m old enough to be your grandfather. +You’re a sweet girl. I like you. Here they are!” + +In fact, as he threw himself at one dexterous dive into his former +seat, Mr. Brownlow returned, accompanied by Oliver, whom Mr. Grimwig +received very graciously; and if the gratification of that moment had +been the only reward for all her anxiety and care in Oliver’s behalf, +Rose Maylie would have been well repaid. + +“There is somebody else who should not be forgotten, by the bye,” said +Mr. Brownlow, ringing the bell. “Send Mrs. Bedwin here, if you please.” + +The old housekeeper answered the summons with all dispatch; and +dropping a curtsey at the door, waited for orders. + +“Why, you get blinder every day, Bedwin,” said Mr. Brownlow, rather +testily. + +“Well, that I do, sir,” replied the old lady. “People’s eyes, at my +time of life, don’t improve with age, sir.” + +“I could have told you that,” rejoined Mr. Brownlow; “but put on your +glasses, and see if you can’t find out what you were wanted for, will +you?” + +The old lady began to rummage in her pocket for her spectacles. But +Oliver’s patience was not proof against this new trial; and yielding to +his first impulse, he sprang into her arms. + +“God be good to me!” cried the old lady, embracing him; “it is my +innocent boy!” + +“My dear old nurse!” cried Oliver. + +“He would come back—I knew he would,” said the old lady, holding him in +her arms. “How well he looks, and how like a gentleman’s son he is +dressed again! Where have you been, this long, long while? Ah! the same +sweet face, but not so pale; the same soft eye, but not so sad. I have +never forgotten them or his quiet smile, but have seen them every day, +side by side with those of my own dear children, dead and gone since I +was a lightsome young creature.” Running on thus, and now holding +Oliver from her to mark how he had grown, now clasping him to her and +passing her fingers fondly through his hair, the good soul laughed and +wept upon his neck by turns. + +Leaving her and Oliver to compare notes at leisure, Mr. Brownlow led +the way into another room; and there, heard from Rose a full narration +of her interview with Nancy, which occasioned him no little surprise +and perplexity. Rose also explained her reasons for not confiding in +her friend Mr. Losberne in the first instance. The old gentleman +considered that she had acted prudently, and readily undertook to hold +solemn conference with the worthy doctor himself. To afford him an +early opportunity for the execution of this design, it was arranged +that he should call at the hotel at eight o’clock that evening, and +that in the meantime Mrs. Maylie should be cautiously informed of all +that had occurred. These preliminaries adjusted, Rose and Oliver +returned home. + +Rose had by no means overrated the measure of the good doctor’s wrath. +Nancy’s history was no sooner unfolded to him, than he poured forth a +shower of mingled threats and execrations; threatened to make her the +first victim of the combined ingenuity of Messrs. Blathers and Duff; +and actually put on his hat preparatory to sallying forth to obtain the +assistance of those worthies. And, doubtless, he would, in this first +outbreak, have carried the intention into effect without a moment’s +consideration of the consequences, if he had not been restrained, in +part, by corresponding violence on the side of Mr. Brownlow, who was +himself of an irascible temperament, and partly by such arguments and +representations as seemed best calculated to dissuade him from his +hotbrained purpose. + +“Then what the devil is to be done?” said the impetuous doctor, when +they had rejoined the two ladies. “Are we to pass a vote of thanks to +all these vagabonds, male and female, and beg them to accept a hundred +pounds, or so, apiece, as a trifling mark of our esteem, and some +slight acknowledgment of their kindness to Oliver?” + +“Not exactly that,” rejoined Mr. Brownlow, laughing; “but we must +proceed gently and with great care.” + +“Gentleness and care,” exclaimed the doctor. “I’d send them one and all +to—” + +“Never mind where,” interposed Mr. Brownlow. “But reflect whether +sending them anywhere is likely to attain the object we have in view.” + +“What object?” asked the doctor. + +“Simply, the discovery of Oliver’s parentage, and regaining for him the +inheritance of which, if this story be true, he has been fraudulently +deprived.” + +“Ah!” said Mr. Losberne, cooling himself with his pocket-handkerchief; +“I almost forgot that.” + +“You see,” pursued Mr. Brownlow; “placing this poor girl entirely out +of the question, and supposing it were possible to bring these +scoundrels to justice without compromising her safety, what good should +we bring about?” + +“Hanging a few of them at least, in all probability,” suggested the +doctor, “and transporting the rest.” + +“Very good,” replied Mr. Brownlow, smiling; “but no doubt they will +bring that about for themselves in the fulness of time, and if we step +in to forestall them, it seems to me that we shall be performing a very +Quixotic act, in direct opposition to our own interest—or at least to +Oliver’s, which is the same thing.” + +“How?” inquired the doctor. + +“Thus. It is quite clear that we shall have extreme difficulty in +getting to the bottom of this mystery, unless we can bring this man, +Monks, upon his knees. That can only be done by stratagem, and by +catching him when he is not surrounded by these people. For, suppose he +were apprehended, we have no proof against him. He is not even (so far +as we know, or as the facts appear to us) concerned with the gang in +any of their robberies. If he were not discharged, it is very unlikely +that he could receive any further punishment than being committed to +prison as a rogue and vagabond; and of course ever afterwards his mouth +would be so obstinately closed that he might as well, for our purposes, +be deaf, dumb, blind, and an idiot.” + +“Then,” said the doctor impetuously, “I put it to you again, whether +you think it reasonable that this promise to the girl should be +considered binding; a promise made with the best and kindest +intentions, but really—” + +“Do not discuss the point, my dear young lady, pray,” said Mr. +Brownlow, interrupting Rose as she was about to speak. “The promise +shall be kept. I don’t think it will, in the slightest degree, +interfere with our proceedings. But, before we can resolve upon any +precise course of action, it will be necessary to see the girl; to +ascertain from her whether she will point out this Monks, on the +understanding that he is to be dealt with by us, and not by the law; +or, if she will not, or cannot do that, to procure from her such an +account of his haunts and description of his person, as will enable us +to identify him. She cannot be seen until next Sunday night; this is +Tuesday. I would suggest that in the meantime, we remain perfectly +quiet, and keep these matters secret even from Oliver himself.” + +Although Mr. Losberne received with many wry faces a proposal involving +a delay of five whole days, he was fain to admit that no better course +occurred to him just then; and as both Rose and Mrs. Maylie sided very +strongly with Mr. Brownlow, that gentleman’s proposition was carried +unanimously. + +“I should like,” he said, “to call in the aid of my friend Grimwig. He +is a strange creature, but a shrewd one, and might prove of material +assistance to us; I should say that he was bred a lawyer, and quitted +the Bar in disgust because he had only one brief and a motion of +course, in twenty years, though whether that is recommendation or not, +you must determine for yourselves.” + +“I have no objection to your calling in your friend if I may call in +mine,” said the doctor. + +“We must put it to the vote,” replied Mr. Brownlow, “who may he be?” + +“That lady’s son, and this young lady’s—very old friend,” said the +doctor, motioning towards Mrs. Maylie, and concluding with an +expressive glance at her niece. + +Rose blushed deeply, but she did not make any audible objection to this +motion (possibly she felt in a hopeless minority); and Harry Maylie and +Mr. Grimwig were accordingly added to the committee. + +“We stay in town, of course,” said Mrs. Maylie, “while there remains +the slightest prospect of prosecuting this inquiry with a chance of +success. I will spare neither trouble nor expense in behalf of the +object in which we are all so deeply interested, and I am content to +remain here, if it be for twelve months, so long as you assure me that +any hope remains.” + +“Good!” rejoined Mr. Brownlow. “And as I see on the faces about me, a +disposition to inquire how it happened that I was not in the way to +corroborate Oliver’s tale, and had so suddenly left the kingdom, let me +stipulate that I shall be asked no questions until such time as I may +deem it expedient to forestall them by telling my own story. Believe +me, I make this request with good reason, for I might otherwise excite +hopes destined never to be realised, and only increase difficulties and +disappointments already quite numerous enough. Come! Supper has been +announced, and young Oliver, who is all alone in the next room, will +have begun to think, by this time, that we have wearied of his company, +and entered into some dark conspiracy to thrust him forth upon the +world.” + +With these words, the old gentleman gave his hand to Mrs. Maylie, and +escorted her into the supper-room. Mr. Losberne followed, leading Rose; +and the council was, for the present, effectually broken up. + + + + + CHAPTER XLII. +AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE OF OLIVER’S, EXHIBITING DECIDED MARKS OF GENIUS, +BECOMES A PUBLIC CHARACTER IN THE METROPOLIS + + +Upon the night when Nancy, having lulled Mr. Sikes to sleep, hurried on +her self-imposed mission to Rose Maylie, there advanced towards London, +by the Great North Road, two persons, upon whom it is expedient that +this history should bestow some attention. + +They were a man and woman; or perhaps they would be better described as +a male and female: for the former was one of those long-limbed, +knock-kneed, shambling, bony people, to whom it is difficult to assign +any precise age,—looking as they do, when they are yet boys, like +undergrown men, and when they are almost men, like overgrown boys. The +woman was young, but of a robust and hardy make, as she need have been +to bear the weight of the heavy bundle which was strapped to her back. +Her companion was not encumbered with much luggage, as there merely +dangled from a stick which he carried over his shoulder, a small parcel +wrapped in a common handkerchief, and apparently light enough. This +circumstance, added to the length of his legs, which were of unusual +extent, enabled him with much ease to keep some half-dozen paces in +advance of his companion, to whom he occasionally turned with an +impatient jerk of the head: as if reproaching her tardiness, and urging +her to greater exertion. + +Thus, they had toiled along the dusty road, taking little heed of any +object within sight, save when they stepped aside to allow a wider +passage for the mail-coaches which were whirling out of town, until +they passed through Highgate archway; when the foremost traveller +stopped and called impatiently to his companion, + +“Come on, can’t yer? What a lazybones yer are, Charlotte.” + +“It’s a heavy load, I can tell you,” said the female, coming up, almost +breathless with fatigue. + +“Heavy! What are yer talking about? What are yer made for?” rejoined +the male traveller, changing his own little bundle as he spoke, to the +other shoulder. “Oh, there yer are, resting again! Well, if yer ain’t +enough to tire anybody’s patience out, I don’t know what is!” + +“Is it much farther?” asked the woman, resting herself against a bank, +and looking up with the perspiration streaming from her face. + +“Much farther! Yer as good as there,” said the long-legged tramper, +pointing out before him. “Look there! Those are the lights of London.” + +“They’re a good two mile off, at least,” said the woman despondingly. + +“Never mind whether they’re two mile off, or twenty,” said Noah +Claypole; for he it was; “but get up and come on, or I’ll kick yer, and +so I give yer notice.” + +As Noah’s red nose grew redder with anger, and as he crossed the road +while speaking, as if fully prepared to put his threat into execution, +the woman rose without any further remark, and trudged onward by his +side. + +“Where do you mean to stop for the night, Noah?” she asked, after they +had walked a few hundred yards. + +“How should I know?” replied Noah, whose temper had been considerably +impaired by walking. + +“Near, I hope,” said Charlotte. + +“No, not near,” replied Mr. Claypole. “There! Not near; so don’t think +it.” + +“Why not?” + +“When I tell yer that I don’t mean to do a thing, that’s enough, +without any why or because either,” replied Mr. Claypole with dignity. + +“Well, you needn’t be so cross,” said his companion. + +“A pretty thing it would be, wouldn’t it to go and stop at the very +first public-house outside the town, so that Sowerberry, if he come up +after us, might poke in his old nose, and have us taken back in a cart +with handcuffs on,” said Mr. Claypole in a jeering tone. “No! I shall +go and lose myself among the narrowest streets I can find, and not stop +till we come to the very out-of-the-wayest house I can set eyes on. +Cod, yer may thanks yer stars I’ve got a head; for if we hadn’t gone, +at first, the wrong road a purpose, and come back across country, yer’d +have been locked up hard and fast a week ago, my lady. And serve yer +right for being a fool.” + +“I know I ain’t as cunning as you are,” replied Charlotte; “but don’t +put all the blame on me, and say I should have been locked up. You +would have been if I had been, any way.” + +“Yer took the money from the till, yer know yer did,” said Mr. +Claypole. + +“I took it for you, Noah, dear,” rejoined Charlotte. + +“Did I keep it?” asked Mr. Claypole. + +“No; you trusted in me, and let me carry it like a dear, and so you +are,” said the lady, chucking him under the chin, and drawing her arm +through his. + +This was indeed the case; but as it was not Mr. Claypole’s habit to +repose a blind and foolish confidence in anybody, it should be +observed, in justice to that gentleman, that he had trusted Charlotte +to this extent, in order that, if they were pursued, the money might be +found on her: which would leave him an opportunity of asserting his +innocence of any theft, and would greatly facilitate his chances of +escape. Of course, he entered at this juncture, into no explanation of +his motives, and they walked on very lovingly together. + +In pursuance of this cautious plan, Mr. Claypole went on, without +halting, until he arrived at the Angel at Islington, where he wisely +judged, from the crowd of passengers and numbers of vehicles, that +London began in earnest. Just pausing to observe which appeared the +most crowded streets, and consequently the most to be avoided, he +crossed into Saint John’s Road, and was soon deep in the obscurity of +the intricate and dirty ways, which, lying between Gray’s Inn Lane and +Smithfield, render that part of the town one of the lowest and worst +that improvement has left in the midst of London. + +Through these streets, Noah Claypole walked, dragging Charlotte after +him; now stepping into the kennel to embrace at a glance the whole +external character of some small public-house; now jogging on again, as +some fancied appearance induced him to believe it too public for his +purpose. At length, he stopped in front of one, more humble in +appearance and more dirty than any he had yet seen; and, having crossed +over and surveyed it from the opposite pavement, graciously announced +his intention of putting up there, for the night. + +“So give us the bundle,” said Noah, unstrapping it from the woman’s +shoulders, and slinging it over his own; “and don’t yer speak, except +when yer spoke to. What’s the name of the house—t-h-r—three what?” + +“Cripples,” said Charlotte. + +“Three Cripples,” repeated Noah, “and a very good sign too. Now, then! +Keep close at my heels, and come along.” With these injunctions, he +pushed the rattling door with his shoulder, and entered the house, +followed by his companion. + +There was nobody in the bar but a young Jew, who, with his two elbows +on the counter, was reading a dirty newspaper. He stared very hard at +Noah, and Noah stared very hard at him. + +If Noah had been attired in his charity-boy’s dress, there might have +been some reason for the Jew opening his eyes so wide; but as he had +discarded the coat and badge, and wore a short smock-frock over his +leathers, there seemed no particular reason for his appearance exciting +so much attention in a public-house. + +“Is this the Three Cripples?” asked Noah. + +“That is the dabe of this ’ouse,” replied the Jew. + +“A gentleman we met on the road, coming up from the country, +recommended us here,” said Noah, nudging Charlotte, perhaps to call her +attention to this most ingenious device for attracting respect, and +perhaps to warn her to betray no surprise. “We want to sleep here +tonight.” + +“I’b dot certaid you cad,” said Barney, who was the attendant sprite; +“but I’ll idquire.” + +“Show us the tap, and give us a bit of cold meat and a drop of beer +while yer inquiring, will yer?” said Noah. + +Barney complied by ushering them into a small back-room, and setting +the required viands before them; having done which, he informed the +travellers that they could be lodged that night, and left the amiable +couple to their refreshment. + +Now, this back-room was immediately behind the bar, and some steps +lower, so that any person connected with the house, undrawing a small +curtain which concealed a single pane of glass fixed in the wall of the +last-named apartment, about five feet from its flooring, could not only +look down upon any guests in the back-room without any great hazard of +being observed (the glass being in a dark angle of the wall, between +which and a large upright beam the observer had to thrust himself), but +could, by applying his ear to the partition, ascertain with tolerable +distinctness, their subject of conversation. The landlord of the house +had not withdrawn his eye from this place of espial for five minutes, +and Barney had only just returned from making the communication above +related, when Fagin, in the course of his evening’s business, came into +the bar to inquire after some of his young pupils. + +“Hush!” said Barney: “stradegers id the next roob.” + +“Strangers!” repeated the old man in a whisper. + +“Ah! Ad rub uds too,” added Barney. “Frob the cuttry, but subthig in +your way, or I’b bistaked.” + +Fagin appeared to receive this communication with great interest. + +Mounting a stool, he cautiously applied his eye to the pane of glass, +from which secret post he could see Mr. Claypole taking cold beef from +the dish, and porter from the pot, and administering homeopathic doses +of both to Charlotte, who sat patiently by, eating and drinking at his +pleasure. + +“Aha!” he whispered, looking round to Barney, “I like that fellow’s +looks. He’d be of use to us; he knows how to train the girl already. +Don’t make as much noise as a mouse, my dear, and let me hear ’em +talk—let me hear ’em.” + +He again applied his eye to the glass, and turning his ear to the +partition, listened attentively: with a subtle and eager look upon his +face, that might have appertained to some old goblin. + +“So I mean to be a gentleman,” said Mr. Claypole, kicking out his legs, +and continuing a conversation, the commencement of which Fagin had +arrived too late to hear. “No more jolly old coffins, Charlotte, but a +gentleman’s life for me: and, if yer like, yer shall be a lady.” + +“I should like that well enough, dear,” replied Charlotte; “but tills +ain’t to be emptied every day, and people to get clear off after it.” + +“Tills be blowed!” said Mr. Claypole; “there’s more things besides +tills to be emptied.” + +“What do you mean?” asked his companion. + +“Pockets, women’s ridicules, houses, mail-coaches, banks!” said Mr. +Claypole, rising with the porter. + +“But you can’t do all that, dear,” said Charlotte. + +“I shall look out to get into company with them as can,” replied Noah. +“They’ll be able to make us useful some way or another. Why, you +yourself are worth fifty women; I never see such a precious sly and +deceitful creetur as yer can be when I let yer.” + +“Lor, how nice it is to hear yer say so!” exclaimed Charlotte, +imprinting a kiss upon his ugly face. + +“There, that’ll do: don’t yer be too affectionate, in case I’m cross +with yer,” said Noah, disengaging himself with great gravity. “I should +like to be the captain of some band, and have the whopping of ’em, and +follering ’em about, unbeknown to themselves. That would suit me, if +there was good profit; and if we could only get in with some gentleman +of this sort, I say it would be cheap at that twenty-pound note you’ve +got,—especially as we don’t very well know how to get rid of it +ourselves.” + +After expressing this opinion, Mr. Claypole looked into the porter-pot +with an aspect of deep wisdom; and having well shaken its contents, +nodded condescendingly to Charlotte, and took a draught, wherewith he +appeared greatly refreshed. He was meditating another, when the sudden +opening of the door, and the appearance of a stranger, interrupted him. + +The stranger was Mr. Fagin. And very amiable he looked, and a very low +bow he made, as he advanced, and setting himself down at the nearest +table, ordered something to drink of the grinning Barney. + +“A pleasant night, sir, but cool for the time of year,” said Fagin, +rubbing his hands. “From the country, I see, sir?” + +“How do yer see that?” asked Noah Claypole. + +“We have not so much dust as that in London,” replied Fagin, pointing +from Noah’s shoes to those of his companion, and from them to the two +bundles. + +“Yer a sharp feller,” said Noah. “Ha! ha! only hear that, Charlotte!” + +“Why, one need be sharp in this town, my dear,” replied the Jew, +sinking his voice to a confidential whisper; “and that’s the truth.” + +Fagin followed up this remark by striking the side of his nose with his +right forefinger,—a gesture which Noah attempted to imitate, though not +with complete success, in consequence of his own nose not being large +enough for the purpose. However, Mr. Fagin seemed to interpret the +endeavour as expressing a perfect coincidence with his opinion, and put +about the liquor which Barney reappeared with, in a very friendly +manner. + +“Good stuff that,” observed Mr. Claypole, smacking his lips. + +“Dear!” said Fagin. “A man need be always emptying a till, or a pocket, +or a woman’s reticule, or a house, or a mail-coach, or a bank, if he +drinks it regularly.” + +Mr. Claypole no sooner heard this extract from his own remarks than he +fell back in his chair, and looked from the Jew to Charlotte with a +countenance of ashy paleness and excessive terror. + +“Don’t mind me, my dear,” said Fagin, drawing his chair closer. “Ha! +ha! it was lucky it was only me that heard you by chance. It was very +lucky it was only me.” + +“I didn’t take it,” stammered Noah, no longer stretching out his legs +like an independent gentleman, but coiling them up as well as he could +under his chair; “it was all her doing; yer’ve got it now, Charlotte, +yer know yer have.” + +“No matter who’s got it, or who did it, my dear,” replied Fagin, +glancing, nevertheless, with a hawk’s eye at the girl and the two +bundles. “I’m in that way myself, and I like you for it.” + +“In what way?” asked Mr. Claypole, a little recovering. + +“In that way of business,” rejoined Fagin; “and so are the people of +the house. You’ve hit the right nail upon the head, and are as safe +here as you could be. There is not a safer place in all this town than +is the Cripples; that is, when I like to make it so. And I have taken a +fancy to you and the young woman; so I’ve said the word, and you may +make your minds easy.” + +Noah Claypole’s mind might have been at ease after this assurance, but +his body certainly was not; for he shuffled and writhed about, into +various uncouth positions: eyeing his new friend meanwhile with mingled +fear and suspicion. + +“I’ll tell you more,” said Fagin, after he had reassured the girl, by +dint of friendly nods and muttered encouragements. “I have got a friend +that I think can gratify your darling wish, and put you in the right +way, where you can take whatever department of the business you think +will suit you best at first, and be taught all the others.” + +“Yer speak as if yer were in earnest,” replied Noah. + +“What advantage would it be to me to be anything else?” inquired Fagin, +shrugging his shoulders. “Here! Let me have a word with you outside.” + +“There’s no occasion to trouble ourselves to move,” said Noah, getting +his legs by gradual degrees abroad again. “She’ll take the luggage +upstairs the while. Charlotte, see to them bundles.” + +This mandate, which had been delivered with great majesty, was obeyed +without the slightest demur; and Charlotte made the best of her way off +with the packages while Noah held the door open and watched her out. + +“She’s kept tolerably well under, ain’t she?” he asked as he resumed +his seat: in the tone of a keeper who had tamed some wild animal. + +“Quite perfect,” rejoined Fagin, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re +a genius, my dear.” + +“Why, I suppose if I wasn’t, I shouldn’t be here,” replied Noah. “But, +I say, she’ll be back if yer lose time.” + +“Now, what do you think?” said Fagin. “If you was to like my friend, +could you do better than join him?” + +“Is he in a good way of business; that’s where it is!” responded Noah, +winking one of his little eyes. + +“The top of the tree; employs a power of hands; has the very best +society in the profession.” + +“Regular town-maders?” asked Mr. Claypole. + +“Not a countryman among ’em; and I don’t think he’d take you, even on +my recommendation, if he didn’t run rather short of assistants just +now,” replied Fagin. + +“Should I have to hand over?” said Noah, slapping his breeches-pocket. + +“It couldn’t possibly be done without,” replied Fagin, in a most +decided manner. + +“Twenty pound, though—it’s a lot of money!” + +“Not when it’s in a note you can’t get rid of,” retorted Fagin. “Number +and date taken, I suppose? Payment stopped at the Bank? Ah! It’s not +worth much to him. It’ll have to go abroad, and he couldn’t sell it for +a great deal in the market.” + +“When could I see him?” asked Noah doubtfully. + +“Tomorrow morning.” + +“Where?” + +“Here.” + +“Um!” said Noah. “What’s the wages?” + +“Live like a gentleman—board and lodging, pipes and spirits free—half +of all you earn, and half of all the young woman earns,” replied Mr. +Fagin. + +Whether Noah Claypole, whose rapacity was none of the least +comprehensive, would have acceded even to these glowing terms, had he +been a perfectly free agent, is very doubtful; but as he recollected +that, in the event of his refusal, it was in the power of his new +acquaintance to give him up to justice immediately (and more unlikely +things had come to pass), he gradually relented, and said he thought +that would suit him. + +“But, yer see,” observed Noah, “as she will be able to do a good deal, +I should like to take something very light.” + +“A little fancy work?” suggested Fagin. + +“Ah! something of that sort,” replied Noah. “What do you think would +suit me now? Something not too trying for the strength, and not very +dangerous, you know. That’s the sort of thing!” + +“I heard you talk of something in the spy way upon the others, my +dear,” said Fagin. “My friend wants somebody who would do that well, +very much.” + +“Why, I did mention that, and I shouldn’t mind turning my hand to it +sometimes,” rejoined Mr. Claypole slowly; “but it wouldn’t pay by +itself, you know.” + +“That’s true!” observed the Jew, ruminating or pretending to ruminate. +“No, it might not.” + +“What do you think, then?” asked Noah, anxiously regarding him. +“Something in the sneaking way, where it was pretty sure work, and not +much more risk than being at home.” + +“What do you think of the old ladies?” asked Fagin. “There’s a good +deal of money made in snatching their bags and parcels, and running +round the corner.” + +“Don’t they holler out a good deal, and scratch sometimes?” asked Noah, +shaking his head. “I don’t think that would answer my purpose. Ain’t +there any other line open?” + +“Stop!” said Fagin, laying his hand on Noah’s knee. “The kinchin lay.” + +“What’s that?” demanded Mr. Claypole. + +“The kinchins, my dear,” said Fagin, “is the young children that’s sent +on errands by their mothers, with sixpences and shillings; and the lay +is just to take their money away—they’ve always got it ready in their +hands,—then knock ’em into the kennel, and walk off very slow, as if +there were nothing else the matter but a child fallen down and hurt +itself. Ha! ha! ha!” + +“Ha! ha!” roared Mr. Claypole, kicking up his legs in an ecstasy. +“Lord, that’s the very thing!” + +“To be sure it is,” replied Fagin; “and you can have a few good beats +chalked out in Camden Town, and Battle Bridge, and neighborhoods like +that, where they’re always going errands; and you can upset as many +kinchins as you want, any hour in the day. Ha! ha! ha!” + +With this, Fagin poked Mr. Claypole in the side, and they joined in a +burst of laughter both long and loud. + +“Well, that’s all right!” said Noah, when he had recovered himself, and +Charlotte had returned. “What time tomorrow shall we say?” + +“Will ten do?” asked Fagin, adding, as Mr. Claypole nodded assent, +“What name shall I tell my good friend.” + +“Mr. Bolter,” replied Noah, who had prepared himself for such +emergency. “Mr. Morris Bolter. This is Mrs. Bolter.” + +“Mrs. Bolter’s humble servant,” said Fagin, bowing with grotesque +politeness. “I hope I shall know her better very shortly.” + +“Do you hear the gentleman, Charlotte?” thundered Mr. Claypole. + +“Yes, Noah, dear!” replied Mrs. Bolter, extending her hand. + +“She calls me Noah, as a sort of fond way of talking,” said Mr. Morris +Bolter, late Claypole, turning to Fagin. “You understand?” + +“Oh yes, I understand—perfectly,” replied Fagin, telling the truth for +once. “Good-night! Good-night!” + +With many adieus and good wishes, Mr. Fagin went his way. Noah +Claypole, bespeaking his good lady’s attention, proceeded to enlighten +her relative to the arrangement he had made, with all that haughtiness +and air of superiority, becoming, not only a member of the sterner sex, +but a gentleman who appreciated the dignity of a special appointment on +the kinchin lay, in London and its vicinity. + + + + + CHAPTER XLIII. +WHEREIN IS SHOWN HOW THE ARTFUL DODGER GOT INTO TROUBLE + + +“And so it was you that was your own friend, was it?” asked Mr. +Claypole, otherwise Bolter, when, by virtue of the compact entered into +between them, he had removed next day to Fagin’s house. “Cod, I thought +as much last night!” + +“Every man’s his own friend, my dear,” replied Fagin, with his most +insinuating grin. “He hasn’t as good a one as himself anywhere.” + +“Except sometimes,” replied Morris Bolter, assuming the air of a man of +the world. “Some people are nobody’s enemies but their own, yer know.” + +“Don’t believe that,” said Fagin. “When a man’s his own enemy, it’s +only because he’s too much his own friend; not because he’s careful for +everybody but himself. Pooh! pooh! There ain’t such a thing in nature.” + +“There oughn’t to be, if there is,” replied Mr. Bolter. + +“That stands to reason. Some conjurers say that number three is the +magic number, and some say number seven. It’s neither, my friend, +neither. It’s number one.” + +“Ha! ha!” cried Mr. Bolter. “Number one for ever.” + +“In a little community like ours, my dear,” said Fagin, who felt it +necessary to qualify this position, “we have a general number one, +without considering me too as the same, and all the other young +people.” + +“Oh, the devil!” exclaimed Mr. Bolter. + +“You see,” pursued Fagin, affecting to disregard this interruption, “we +are so mixed up together, and identified in our interests, that it must +be so. For instance, it’s your object to take care of number +one—meaning yourself.” + +“Certainly,” replied Mr. Bolter. “Yer about right there.” + +“Well! You can’t take care of yourself, number one, without taking care +of me, number one.” + +“Number two, you mean,” said Mr. Bolter, who was largely endowed with +the quality of selfishness. + +“No, I don’t!” retorted Fagin. “I’m of the same importance to you, as +you are to yourself.” + +“I say,” interrupted Mr. Bolter, “yer a very nice man, and I’m very +fond of yer; but we ain’t quite so thick together, as all that comes +to.” + +“Only think,” said Fagin, shrugging his shoulders, and stretching out +his hands; “only consider. You’ve done what’s a very pretty thing, and +what I love you for doing; but what at the same time would put the +cravat round your throat, that’s so very easily tied and so very +difficult to unloose—in plain English, the halter!” + +Mr. Bolter put his hand to his neckerchief, as if he felt it +inconveniently tight; and murmured an assent, qualified in tone but not +in substance. + +“The gallows,” continued Fagin, “the gallows, my dear, is an ugly +finger-post, which points out a very short and sharp turning that has +stopped many a bold fellow’s career on the broad highway. To keep in +the easy road, and keep it at a distance, is object number one with +you.” + +“Of course it is,” replied Mr. Bolter. “What do yer talk about such +things for?” + +“Only to show you my meaning clearly,” said the Jew, raising his +eyebrows. “To be able to do that, you depend upon me. To keep my little +business all snug, I depend upon you. The first is your number one, the +second my number one. The more you value your number one, the more +careful you must be of mine; so we come at last to what I told you at +first—that a regard for number one holds us all together, and must do +so, unless we would all go to pieces in company.” + +“That’s true,” rejoined Mr. Bolter, thoughtfully. “Oh! yer a cunning +old codger!” + +Mr. Fagin saw, with delight, that this tribute to his powers was no +mere compliment, but that he had really impressed his recruit with a +sense of his wily genius, which it was most important that he should +entertain in the outset of their acquaintance. To strengthen an +impression so desirable and useful, he followed up the blow by +acquainting him, in some detail, with the magnitude and extent of his +operations; blending truth and fiction together, as best served his +purpose; and bringing both to bear, with so much art, that Mr. Bolter’s +respect visibly increased, and became tempered, at the same time, with +a degree of wholesome fear, which it was highly desirable to awaken. + +“It’s this mutual trust we have in each other that consoles me under +heavy losses,” said Fagin. “My best hand was taken from me, yesterday +morning.” + +“You don’t mean to say he died?” cried Mr. Bolter. + +“No, no,” replied Fagin, “not so bad as that. Not quite so bad.” + +“What, I suppose he was—” + +“Wanted,” interposed Fagin. “Yes, he was wanted.” + +“Very particular?” inquired Mr. Bolter. + +“No,” replied Fagin, “not very. He was charged with attempting to pick +a pocket, and they found a silver snuff-box on him,—his own, my dear, +his own, for he took snuff himself, and was very fond of it. They +remanded him till today, for they thought they knew the owner. Ah! he +was worth fifty boxes, and I’d give the price of as many to have him +back. You should have known the Dodger, my dear; you should have known +the Dodger.” + +“Well, but I shall know him, I hope; don’t yer think so?” said Mr. +Bolter. + +“I’m doubtful about it,” replied Fagin, with a sigh. “If they don’t get +any fresh evidence, it’ll only be a summary conviction, and we shall +have him back again after six weeks or so; but, if they do, it’s a case +of lagging. They know what a clever lad he is; he’ll be a lifer. +They’ll make the Artful nothing less than a lifer.” + +“What do you mean by lagging and a lifer?” demanded Mr. Bolter. “What’s +the good of talking in that way to me; why don’t yer speak so as I can +understand yer?” + +Fagin was about to translate these mysterious expressions into the +vulgar tongue; and, being interpreted, Mr. Bolter would have been +informed that they represented that combination of words, +“transportation for life,” when the dialogue was cut short by the entry +of Master Bates, with his hands in his breeches-pockets, and his face +twisted into a look of semi-comical woe. + +“It’s all up, Fagin,” said Charley, when he and his new companion had +been made known to each other. + +“What do you mean?” + +“They’ve found the gentleman as owns the box; two or three more’s a +coming to ’dentify him; and the Artful’s booked for a passage out,” +replied Master Bates. “I must have a full suit of mourning, Fagin, and +a hatband, to wisit him in, afore he sets out upon his travels. To +think of Jack Dawkins—lummy Jack—the Dodger—the Artful Dodger—going +abroad for a common twopenny-halfpenny sneeze-box! I never thought he’d +a done it under a gold watch, chain, and seals, at the lowest. Oh, why +didn’t he rob some rich old gentleman of all his walables, and go out +as a gentleman, and not like a common prig, without no honour nor +glory!” + +With this expression of feeling for his unfortunate friend, Master +Bates sat himself on the nearest chair with an aspect of chagrin and +despondency. + +“What do you talk about his having neither honour nor glory for!” +exclaimed Fagin, darting an angry look at his pupil. “Wasn’t he always +the top-sawyer among you all! Is there one of you that could touch him +or come near him on any scent! Eh?” + +“Not one,” replied Master Bates, in a voice rendered husky by regret; +“not one.” + +“Then what do you talk of?” replied Fagin angrily; “what are you +blubbering for?” + +“’Cause it isn’t on the rec-ord, is it?” said Charley, chafed into +perfect defiance of his venerable friend by the current of his regrets; +“’cause it can’t come out in the ’dictment; ’cause nobody will never +know half of what he was. How will he stand in the Newgate Calendar? +P’raps not be there at all. Oh, my eye, my eye, wot a blow it is!” + +“Ha! ha!” cried Fagin, extending his right hand, and turning to Mr. +Bolter in a fit of chuckling which shook him as though he had the +palsy; “see what a pride they take in their profession, my dear. Ain’t +it beautiful?” + +Mr. Bolter nodded assent, and Fagin, after contemplating the grief of +Charley Bates for some seconds with evident satisfaction, stepped up to +that young gentleman and patted him on the shoulder. + +“Never mind, Charley,” said Fagin soothingly; “it’ll come out, it’ll be +sure to come out. They’ll all know what a clever fellow he was; he’ll +show it himself, and not disgrace his old pals and teachers. Think how +young he is too! What a distinction, Charley, to be lagged at his time +of life!” + +“Well, it is a honour that is!” said Charley, a little consoled. + +“He shall have all he wants,” continued the Jew. “He shall be kept in +the Stone Jug, Charley, like a gentleman. Like a gentleman! With his +beer every day, and money in his pocket to pitch and toss with, if he +can’t spend it.” + +“No, shall he though?” cried Charley Bates. + +“Ay, that he shall,” replied Fagin, “and we’ll have a big-wig, Charley: +one that’s got the greatest gift of the gab: to carry on his defence; +and he shall make a speech for himself too, if he likes; and we’ll read +it all in the papers—‘Artful Dodger—shrieks of laughter—here the court +was convulsed’—eh, Charley, eh?” + +“Ha! ha!” laughed Master Bates, “what a lark that would be, wouldn’t +it, Fagin? I say, how the Artful would bother ’em wouldn’t he?” + +“Would!” cried Fagin. “He shall—he will!” + +“Ah, to be sure, so he will,” repeated Charley, rubbing his hands. + +“I think I see him now,” cried the Jew, bending his eyes upon his +pupil. + +“So do I,” cried Charley Bates. “Ha! ha! ha! so do I. I see it all +afore me, upon my soul I do, Fagin. What a game! What a regular game! +All the big-wigs trying to look solemn, and Jack Dawkins addressing of +’em as intimate and comfortable as if he was the judge’s own son making +a speech arter dinner—ha! ha! ha!” + +In fact, Mr. Fagin had so well humoured his young friend’s eccentric +disposition, that Master Bates, who had at first been disposed to +consider the imprisoned Dodger rather in the light of a victim, now +looked upon him as the chief actor in a scene of most uncommon and +exquisite humour, and felt quite impatient for the arrival of the time +when his old companion should have so favourable an opportunity of +displaying his abilities. + +“We must know how he gets on today, by some handy means or other,” +said Fagin. “Let me think.” + +“Shall I go?” asked Charley. + +“Not for the world,” replied Fagin. “Are you mad, my dear, stark mad, +that you’d walk into the very place where—No, Charley, no. One is +enough to lose at a time.” + +“You don’t mean to go yourself, I suppose?” said Charley with a +humorous leer. + +“That wouldn’t quite fit,” replied Fagin shaking his head. + +“Then why don’t you send this new cove?” asked Master Bates, laying his +hand on Noah’s arm. “Nobody knows him.” + +“Why, if he didn’t mind—” observed Fagin. + +“Mind!” interposed Charley. “What should he have to mind?” + +“Really nothing, my dear,” said Fagin, turning to Mr. Bolter, “really +nothing.” + +“Oh, I dare say about that, yer know,” observed Noah, backing towards +the door, and shaking his head with a kind of sober alarm. “No, no—none +of that. It’s not in my department, that ain’t.” + +“Wot department has he got, Fagin?” inquired Master Bates, surveying +Noah’s lank form with much disgust. “The cutting away when there’s +anything wrong, and the eating all the wittles when there’s everything +right; is that his branch?” + +“Never mind,” retorted Mr. Bolter; “and don’t yer take liberties with +yer superiors, little boy, or yer’ll find yerself in the wrong shop.” + +Master Bates laughed so vehemently at this magnificent threat, that it +was some time before Fagin could interpose, and represent to Mr. Bolter +that he incurred no possible danger in visiting the police-office; +that, inasmuch as no account of the little affair in which he had +engaged, nor any description of his person, had yet been forwarded to +the metropolis, it was very probable that he was not even suspected of +having resorted to it for shelter; and that, if he were properly +disguised, it would be as safe a spot for him to visit as any in +London, inasmuch as it would be, of all places, the very last, to which +he could be supposed likely to resort of his own free will. + +Persuaded, in part, by these representations, but overborne in a much +greater degree by his fear of Fagin, Mr. Bolter at length consented, +with a very bad grace, to undertake the expedition. By Fagin’s +directions, he immediately substituted for his own attire, a waggoner’s +frock, velveteen breeches, and leather leggings: all of which articles +the Jew had at hand. He was likewise furnished with a felt hat well +garnished with turnpike tickets; and a carter’s whip. Thus equipped, he +was to saunter into the office, as some country fellow from Covent +Garden market might be supposed to do for the gratification of his +curiousity; and as he was as awkward, ungainly, and raw-boned a fellow +as need be, Mr. Fagin had no fear but that he would look the part to +perfection. + +These arrangements completed, he was informed of the necessary signs +and tokens by which to recognise the Artful Dodger, and was conveyed by +Master Bates through dark and winding ways to within a very short +distance of Bow Street. Having described the precise situation of the +office, and accompanied it with copious directions how he was to walk +straight up the passage, and when he got into the side, and pull off +his hat as he went into the room, Charley Bates bade him hurry on +alone, and promised to bide his return on the spot of their parting. + +Noah Claypole, or Morris Bolter as the reader pleases, punctually +followed the directions he had received, which—Master Bates being +pretty well acquainted with the locality—were so exact that he was +enabled to gain the magisterial presence without asking any question, +or meeting with any interruption by the way. + +He found himself jostled among a crowd of people, chiefly women, who +were huddled together in a dirty frowsy room, at the upper end of which +was a raised platform railed off from the rest, with a dock for the +prisoners on the left hand against the wall, a box for the witnesses in +the middle, and a desk for the magistrates on the right; the awful +locality last named, being screened off by a partition which concealed +the bench from the common gaze, and left the vulgar to imagine (if they +could) the full majesty of justice. + +There were only a couple of women in the dock, who were nodding to +their admiring friends, while the clerk read some depositions to a +couple of policemen and a man in plain clothes who leant over the +table. A jailer stood reclining against the dock-rail, tapping his nose +listlessly with a large key, except when he repressed an undue tendency +to conversation among the idlers, by proclaiming silence; or looked +sternly up to bid some woman “Take that baby out,” when the gravity of +justice was disturbed by feeble cries, half-smothered in the mother’s +shawl, from some meagre infant. The room smelt close and unwholesome; +the walls were dirt-discoloured; and the ceiling blackened. There was +an old smoky bust over the mantel-shelf, and a dusty clock above the +dock—the only thing present, that seemed to go on as it ought; for +depravity, or poverty, or an habitual acquaintance with both, had left +a taint on all the animate matter, hardly less unpleasant than the +thick greasy scum on every inanimate object that frowned upon it. + +Noah looked eagerly about him for the Dodger; but although there were +several women who would have done very well for that distinguished +character’s mother or sister, and more than one man who might be +supposed to bear a strong resemblance to his father, nobody at all +answering the description given him of Mr. Dawkins was to be seen. He +waited in a state of much suspense and uncertainty until the women, +being committed for trial, went flaunting out; and then was quickly +relieved by the appearance of another prisoner who he felt at once +could be no other than the object of his visit. + +It was indeed Mr. Dawkins, who, shuffling into the office with the big +coat sleeves tucked up as usual, his left hand in his pocket, and his +hat in his right hand, preceded the jailer, with a rolling gait +altogether indescribable, and, taking his place in the dock, requested +in an audible voice to know what he was placed in that ’ere disgraceful +sitivation for. + +“Hold your tongue, will you?” said the jailer. + +“I’m an Englishman, ain’t I?” rejoined the Dodger. “Where are my +priwileges?” + +“You’ll get your privileges soon enough,” retorted the jailer, “and +pepper with ’em.” + +“We’ll see wot the Secretary of State for the Home Affairs has got to +say to the beaks, if I don’t,” replied Mr. Dawkins. “Now then! Wot is +this here business? I shall thank the madg’strates to dispose of this +here little affair, and not to keep me while they read the paper, for +I’ve got an appointment with a genelman in the City, and as I am a man +of my word and wery punctual in business matters, he’ll go away if I +ain’t there to my time, and then pr’aps ther won’t be an action for +damage against them as kep me away. Oh no, certainly not!” + +At this point, the Dodger, with a show of being very particular with a +view to proceedings to be had thereafter, desired the jailer to +communicate “the names of them two files as was on the bench.” Which so +tickled the spectators, that they laughed almost as heartily as Master +Bates could have done if he had heard the request. + +“Silence there!” cried the jailer. + +“What is this?” inquired one of the magistrates. + +“A pick-pocketing case, your worship.” + +“Has the boy ever been here before?” + +“He ought to have been, a many times,” replied the jailer. “He has been +pretty well everywhere else. _I_ know him well, your worship.” + +“Oh! you know me, do you?” cried the Artful, making a note of the +statement. “Wery good. That’s a case of deformation of character, any +way.” + +Here there was another laugh, and another cry of silence. + +“Now then, where are the witnesses?” said the clerk. + +“Ah! that’s right,” added the Dodger. “Where are they? I should like to +see ’em.” + +This wish was immediately gratified, for a policeman stepped forward +who had seen the prisoner attempt the pocket of an unknown gentleman in +a crowd, and indeed take a handkerchief therefrom, which, being a very +old one, he deliberately put back again, after trying it on his own +countenance. For this reason, he took the Dodger into custody as soon +as he could get near him, and the said Dodger, being searched, had upon +his person a silver snuff-box, with the owner’s name engraved upon the +lid. This gentleman had been discovered on reference to the Court +Guide, and being then and there present, swore that the snuff-box was +his, and that he had missed it on the previous day, the moment he had +disengaged himself from the crowd before referred to. He had also +remarked a young gentleman in the throng, particularly active in making +his way about, and that young gentleman was the prisoner before him. + +“Have you anything to ask this witness, boy?” said the magistrate. + +“I wouldn’t abase myself by descending to hold no conversation with +him,” replied the Dodger. + +“Have you anything to say at all?” + +“Do you hear his worship ask if you’ve anything to say?” inquired the +jailer, nudging the silent Dodger with his elbow. + +“I beg your pardon,” said the Dodger, looking up with an air of +abstraction. “Did you redress yourself to me, my man?” + +“I never see such an out-and-out young wagabond, your worship,” +observed the officer with a grin. “Do you mean to say anything, you +young shaver?” + +“No,” replied the Dodger, “not here, for this ain’t the shop for +justice: besides which, my attorney is a-breakfasting this morning with +the Wice President of the House of Commons; but I shall have something +to say elsewhere, and so will he, and so will a wery numerous and +’spectable circle of acquaintance as’ll make them beaks wish they’d +never been born, or that they’d got their footmen to hang ’em up to +their own hat-pegs, afore they let ’em come out this morning to try it +on upon me. I’ll—” + +“There! He’s fully committed!” interposed the clerk. “Take him away.” + +“Come on,” said the jailer. + +“Oh ah! I’ll come on,” replied the Dodger, brushing his hat with the +palm of his hand. “Ah! (to the Bench) it’s no use your looking +frightened; I won’t show you no mercy, not a ha’porth of it. _You’ll_ +pay for this, my fine fellers. I wouldn’t be you for something! I +wouldn’t go free, now, if you was to fall down on your knees and ask +me. Here, carry me off to prison! Take me away!” + +With these last words, the Dodger suffered himself to be led off by the +collar; threatening, till he got into the yard, to make a parliamentary +business of it; and then grinning in the officer’s face, with great +glee and self-approval. + +Having seen him locked up by himself in a little cell, Noah made the +best of his way back to where he had left Master Bates. After waiting +here some time, he was joined by that young gentleman, who had +prudently abstained from showing himself until he had looked carefully +abroad from a snug retreat, and ascertained that his new friend had not +been followed by any impertinent person. + +The two hastened back together, to bear to Mr. Fagin the animating news +that the Dodger was doing full justice to his bringing-up, and +establishing for himself a glorious reputation. + + + + + CHAPTER XLIV. +THE TIME ARRIVES FOR NANCY TO REDEEM HER PLEDGE TO ROSE MAYLIE. SHE +FAILS. + + +Adept as she was, in all the arts of cunning and dissimulation, the +girl Nancy could not wholly conceal the effect which the knowledge of +the step she had taken, wrought upon her mind. She remembered that both +the crafty Jew and the brutal Sikes had confided to her schemes, which +had been hidden from all others: in the full confidence that she was +trustworthy and beyond the reach of their suspicion. Vile as those +schemes were, desperate as were their originators, and bitter as were +her feelings towards Fagin, who had led her, step by step, deeper and +deeper down into an abyss of crime and misery, whence was no escape; +still, there were times when, even towards him, she felt some +relenting, lest her disclosure should bring him within the iron grasp +he had so long eluded, and he should fall at last—richly as he merited +such a fate—by her hand. + +But, these were the mere wanderings of a mind unable wholly to detach +itself from old companions and associations, though enabled to fix +itself steadily on one object, and resolved not to be turned aside by +any consideration. Her fears for Sikes would have been more powerful +inducements to recoil while there was yet time; but she had stipulated +that her secret should be rigidly kept, she had dropped no clue which +could lead to his discovery, she had refused, even for his sake, a +refuge from all the guilt and wretchedness that encompasses her—and +what more could she do! She was resolved. + +Though all her mental struggles terminated in this conclusion, they +forced themselves upon her, again and again, and left their traces too. +She grew pale and thin, even within a few days. At times, she took no +heed of what was passing before her, or no part in conversations where +once, she would have been the loudest. At other times, she laughed +without merriment, and was noisy without a moment afterwards—she sat +silent and dejected, brooding with her head upon her hands, while the +very effort by which she roused herself, told, more forcibly than even +these indications, that she was ill at ease, and that her thoughts were +occupied with matters very different and distant from those in the +course of discussion by her companions. + +It was Sunday night, and the bell of the nearest church struck the +hour. Sikes and the Jew were talking, but they paused to listen. The +girl looked up from the low seat on which she crouched, and listened +too. Eleven. + +“An hour this side of midnight,” said Sikes, raising the blind to look +out and returning to his seat. “Dark and heavy it is too. A good night +for business this.” + +“Ah!” replied Fagin. “What a pity, Bill, my dear, that there’s none +quite ready to be done.” + +“You’re right for once,” replied Sikes gruffly. “It is a pity, for I’m +in the humour too.” + +Fagin sighed, and shook his head despondingly. + +“We must make up for lost time when we’ve got things into a good train. +That’s all I know,” said Sikes. + +“That’s the way to talk, my dear,” replied Fagin, venturing to pat him +on the shoulder. “It does me good to hear you.” + +“Does you good, does it!” cried Sikes. “Well, so be it.” + +“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Fagin, as if he were relieved by even this +concession. “You’re like yourself tonight, Bill. Quite like yourself.” + +“I don’t feel like myself when you lay that withered old claw on my +shoulder, so take it away,” said Sikes, casting off the Jew’s hand. + +“It make you nervous, Bill,—reminds you of being nabbed, does it?” said +Fagin, determined not to be offended. + +“Reminds me of being nabbed by the devil,” returned Sikes. “There never +was another man with such a face as yours, unless it was your father, +and I suppose _he_ is singeing his grizzled red beard by this time, +unless you came straight from the old ’un without any father at all +betwixt you; which I shouldn’t wonder at, a bit.” + +Fagin offered no reply to this compliment: but, pulling Sikes by the +sleeve, pointed his finger towards Nancy, who had taken advantage of +the foregoing conversation to put on her bonnet, and was now leaving +the room. + +“Hallo!” cried Sikes. “Nance. Where’s the gal going to at this time of +night?” + +“Not far.” + +“What answer’s that?” retorted Sikes. “Do you hear me?” + +“I don’t know where,” replied the girl. + +“Then I do,” said Sikes, more in the spirit of obstinacy than because +he had any real objection to the girl going where she listed. “Nowhere. +Sit down.” + +“I’m not well. I told you that before,” rejoined the girl. “I want a +breath of air.” + +“Put your head out of the winder,” replied Sikes. + +“There’s not enough there,” said the girl. “I want it in the street.” + +“Then you won’t have it,” replied Sikes. With which assurance he rose, +locked the door, took the key out, and pulling her bonnet from her +head, flung it up to the top of an old press. “There,” said the robber. +“Now stop quietly where you are, will you?” + +“It’s not such a matter as a bonnet would keep me,” said the girl +turning very pale. “What do you mean, Bill? Do you know what you’re +doing?” + +“Know what I’m—Oh!” cried Sikes, turning to Fagin, “she’s out of her +senses, you know, or she daren’t talk to me in that way.” + +“You’ll drive me on the something desperate,” muttered the girl placing +both hands upon her breast, as though to keep down by force some +violent outbreak. “Let me go, will you,—this minute—this instant.” + +“No!” said Sikes. + +“Tell him to let me go, Fagin. He had better. It’ll be better for him. +Do you hear me?” cried Nancy stamping her foot upon the ground. + +“Hear you!” repeated Sikes turning round in his chair to confront her. +“Aye! And if I hear you for half a minute longer, the dog shall have +such a grip on your throat as’ll tear some of that screaming voice out. +Wot has come over you, you jade! Wot is it?” + +“Let me go,” said the girl with great earnestness; then sitting herself +down on the floor, before the door, she said, “Bill, let me go; you +don’t know what you are doing. You don’t, indeed. For only one +hour—do—do!” + +“Cut my limbs off one by one!” cried Sikes, seizing her roughly by the +arm, “If I don’t think the gal’s stark raving mad. Get up.” + +“Not till you let me go—not till you let me go—Never—never!” screamed +the girl. Sikes looked on, for a minute, watching his opportunity, and +suddenly pinioning her hands dragged her, struggling and wrestling with +him by the way, into a small room adjoining, where he sat himself on a +bench, and thrusting her into a chair, held her down by force. She +struggled and implored by turns until twelve o’clock had struck, and +then, wearied and exhausted, ceased to contest the point any further. +With a caution, backed by many oaths, to make no more efforts to go out +that night, Sikes left her to recover at leisure and rejoined Fagin. + +“Whew!” said the housebreaker wiping the perspiration from his face. +“Wot a precious strange gal that is!” + +“You may say that, Bill,” replied Fagin thoughtfully. “You may say +that.” + +“Wot did she take it into her head to go out tonight for, do you +think?” asked Sikes. “Come; you should know her better than me. Wot +does it mean?” + +“Obstinacy; woman’s obstinacy, I suppose, my dear.” + +“Well, I suppose it is,” growled Sikes. “I thought I had tamed her, but +she’s as bad as ever.” + +“Worse,” said Fagin thoughtfully. “I never knew her like this, for such +a little cause.” + +“Nor I,” said Sikes. “I think she’s got a touch of that fever in her +blood yet, and it won’t come out—eh?” + +“Like enough.” + +“I’ll let her a little blood, without troubling the doctor, if she’s +took that way again,” said Sikes. + +Fagin nodded an expressive approval of this mode of treatment. + +“She was hanging about me all day, and night too, when I was stretched +on my back; and you, like a blackhearted wolf as you are, kept yourself +aloof,” said Sikes. “We was poor too, all the time, and I think, one +way or other, it’s worried and fretted her; and that being shut up here +so long has made her restless—eh?” + +“That’s it, my dear,” replied the Jew in a whisper. “Hush!” + +As he uttered these words, the girl herself appeared and resumed her +former seat. Her eyes were swollen and red; she rocked herself to and +fro; tossed her head; and, after a little time, burst out laughing. + +“Why, now she’s on the other tack!” exclaimed Sikes, turning a look of +excessive surprise on his companion. + +Fagin nodded to him to take no further notice just then; and, in a few +minutes, the girl subsided into her accustomed demeanour. Whispering +Sikes that there was no fear of her relapsing, Fagin took up his hat +and bade him good-night. He paused when he reached the room-door, and +looking round, asked if somebody would light him down the dark stairs. + +“Light him down,” said Sikes, who was filling his pipe. “It’s a pity he +should break his neck himself, and disappoint the sight-seers. Show him +a light.” + +Nancy followed the old man downstairs, with a candle. When they reached +the passage, he laid his finger on his lip, and drawing close to the +girl, said, in a whisper. + +“What is it, Nancy, dear?” + +“What do you mean?” replied the girl, in the same tone. + +“The reason of all this,” replied Fagin. “If _he_”—he pointed with his +skinny fore-finger up the stairs—“is so hard with you (he’s a brute, +Nance, a brute-beast), why don’t you—” + +“Well?” said the girl, as Fagin paused, with his mouth almost touching +her ear, and his eyes looking into hers. + +“No matter just now. We’ll talk of this again. You have a friend in me, +Nance; a staunch friend. I have the means at hand, quiet and close. If +you want revenge on those that treat you like a dog—like a dog! worse +than his dog, for he humours him sometimes—come to me. I say, come to +me. He is the mere hound of a day, but you know me of old, Nance.” + +“I know you well,” replied the girl, without manifesting the least +emotion. “Good-night.” + +She shrank back, as Fagin offered to lay his hand on hers, but said +good-night again, in a steady voice, and, answering his parting look +with a nod of intelligence, closed the door between them. + +Fagin walked towards his home, intent upon the thoughts that were +working within his brain. He had conceived the idea—not from what had +just passed though that had tended to confirm him, but slowly and by +degrees—that Nancy, wearied of the housebreaker’s brutality, had +conceived an attachment for some new friend. Her altered manner, her +repeated absences from home alone, her comparative indifference to the +interests of the gang for which she had once been so zealous, and, +added to these, her desperate impatience to leave home that night at a +particular hour, all favoured the supposition, and rendered it, to him +at least, almost matter of certainty. The object of this new liking was +not among his myrmidons. He would be a valuable acquisition with such +an assistant as Nancy, and must (thus Fagin argued) be secured without +delay. + +There was another, and a darker object, to be gained. Sikes knew too +much, and his ruffian taunts had not galled Fagin the less, because the +wounds were hidden. The girl must know, well, that if she shook him +off, she could never be safe from his fury, and that it would be surely +wreaked—to the maiming of limbs, or perhaps the loss of life—on the +object of her more recent fancy. + +“With a little persuasion,” thought Fagin, “what more likely than that +she would consent to poison him? Women have done such things, and +worse, to secure the same object before now. There would be the +dangerous villain: the man I hate: gone; another secured in his place; +and my influence over the girl, with a knowledge of this crime to back +it, unlimited.” + +These things passed through the mind of Fagin, during the short time he +sat alone, in the housebreaker’s room; and with them uppermost in his +thoughts, he had taken the opportunity afterwards afforded him, of +sounding the girl in the broken hints he threw out at parting. There +was no expression of surprise, no assumption of an inability to +understand his meaning. The girl clearly comprehended it. Her glance at +parting showed _that_. + +But perhaps she would recoil from a plot to take the life of Sikes, and +that was one of the chief ends to be attained. “How,” thought Fagin, as +he crept homeward, “can I increase my influence with her? What new +power can I acquire?” + +Such brains are fertile in expedients. If, without extracting a +confession from herself, he laid a watch, discovered the object of her +altered regard, and threatened to reveal the whole history to Sikes (of +whom she stood in no common fear) unless she entered into his designs, +could he not secure her compliance? + +“I can,” said Fagin, almost aloud. “She durst not refuse me then. Not +for her life, not for her life! I have it all. The means are ready, and +shall be set to work. I shall have you yet!” + +He cast back a dark look, and a threatening motion of the hand, towards +the spot where he had left the bolder villain; and went on his way: +busying his bony hands in the folds of his tattered garment, which he +wrenched tightly in his grasp, as though there were a hated enemy +crushed with every motion of his fingers. + + + + + CHAPTER XLV. +NOAH CLAYPOLE IS EMPLOYED BY FAGIN ON A SECRET MISSION + + +The old man was up, betimes, next morning, and waited impatiently for +the appearance of his new associate, who after a delay that seemed +interminable, at length presented himself, and commenced a voracious +assault on the breakfast. + +“Bolter,” said Fagin, drawing up a chair and seating himself opposite +Morris Bolter. + +“Well, here I am,” returned Noah. “What’s the matter? Don’t yer ask me +to do anything till I have done eating. That’s a great fault in this +place. Yer never get time enough over yer meals.” + +“You can talk as you eat, can’t you?” said Fagin, cursing his dear +young friend’s greediness from the very bottom of his heart. + +“Oh yes, I can talk. I get on better when I talk,” said Noah, cutting a +monstrous slice of bread. “Where’s Charlotte?” + +“Out,” said Fagin. “I sent her out this morning with the other young +woman, because I wanted us to be alone.” + +“Oh!” said Noah. “I wish yer’d ordered her to make some buttered toast +first. Well. Talk away. Yer won’t interrupt me.” + +There seemed, indeed, no great fear of anything interrupting him, as he +had evidently sat down with a determination to do a great deal of +business. + +“You did well yesterday, my dear,” said Fagin. “Beautiful! Six +shillings and ninepence halfpenny on the very first day! The kinchin +lay will be a fortune to you.” + +“Don’t you forget to add three pint-pots and a milk-can,” said Mr. +Bolter. + +“No, no, my dear. The pint-pots were great strokes of genius: but the +milk-can was a perfect masterpiece.” + +“Pretty well, I think, for a beginner,” remarked Mr. Bolter +complacently. “The pots I took off airy railings, and the milk-can was +standing by itself outside a public-house. I thought it might get rusty +with the rain, or catch cold, yer know. Eh? Ha! ha! ha!” + +Fagin affected to laugh very heartily; and Mr. Bolter having had his +laugh out, took a series of large bites, which finished his first hunk +of bread and butter, and assisted himself to a second. + +“I want you, Bolter,” said Fagin, leaning over the table, “to do a +piece of work for me, my dear, that needs great care and caution.” + +“I say,” rejoined Bolter, “don’t yer go shoving me into danger, or +sending me any more o’ yer police-offices. That don’t suit me, that +don’t; and so I tell yer.” + +“That’s not the smallest danger in it—not the very smallest,” said the +Jew; “it’s only to dodge a woman.” + +“An old woman?” demanded Mr. Bolter. + +“A young one,” replied Fagin. + +“I can do that pretty well, I know,” said Bolter. “I was a regular +cunning sneak when I was at school. What am I to dodge her for? Not +to—” + +“Not to do anything, but to tell me where she goes, who she sees, and, +if possible, what she says; to remember the street, if it is a street, +or the house, if it is a house; and to bring me back all the +information you can.” + +“What’ll yer give me?” asked Noah, setting down his cup, and looking +his employer, eagerly, in the face. + +“If you do it well, a pound, my dear. One pound,” said Fagin, wishing +to interest him in the scent as much as possible. “And that’s what I +never gave yet, for any job of work where there wasn’t valuable +consideration to be gained.” + +“Who is she?” inquired Noah. + +“One of us.” + +“Oh Lor!” cried Noah, curling up his nose. “Yer doubtful of her, are +yer?” + +“She has found out some new friends, my dear, and I must know who they +are,” replied Fagin. + +“I see,” said Noah. “Just to have the pleasure of knowing them, if +they’re respectable people, eh? Ha! ha! ha! I’m your man.” + +“I knew you would be,” cried Fagin, elated by the success of his +proposal. + +“Of course, of course,” replied Noah. “Where is she? Where am I to wait +for her? Where am I to go?” + +“All that, my dear, you shall hear from me. I’ll point her out at the +proper time,” said Fagin. “You keep ready, and leave the rest to me.” + +That night, and the next, and the next again, the spy sat booted and +equipped in his carter’s dress: ready to turn out at a word from Fagin. +Six nights passed—six long weary nights—and on each, Fagin came home +with a disappointed face, and briefly intimated that it was not yet +time. On the seventh, he returned earlier, and with an exultation he +could not conceal. It was Sunday. + +“She goes abroad tonight,” said Fagin, “and on the right errand, I’m +sure; for she has been alone all day, and the man she is afraid of will +not be back much before daybreak. Come with me. Quick!” + +Noah started up without saying a word; for the Jew was in a state of +such intense excitement that it infected him. They left the house +stealthily, and hurrying through a labyrinth of streets, arrived at +length before a public-house, which Noah recognised as the same in +which he had slept, on the night of his arrival in London. + +It was past eleven o’clock, and the door was closed. It opened softly +on its hinges as Fagin gave a low whistle. They entered, without noise; +and the door was closed behind them. + +Scarcely venturing to whisper, but substituting dumb show for words, +Fagin, and the young Jew who had admitted them, pointed out the pane of +glass to Noah, and signed to him to climb up and observe the person in +the adjoining room. + +“Is that the woman?” he asked, scarcely above his breath. + +Fagin nodded yes. + +“I can’t see her face well,” whispered Noah. “She is looking down, and +the candle is behind her.” + +“Stay there,” whispered Fagin. He signed to Barney, who withdrew. In an +instant, the lad entered the room adjoining, and, under pretence of +snuffing the candle, moved it in the required position, and, speaking +to the girl, caused her to raise her face. + +“I see her now,” cried the spy. + +“Plainly?” + +“I should know her among a thousand.” + +He hastily descended, as the room-door opened, and the girl came out. +Fagin drew him behind a small partition which was curtained off, and +they held their breaths as she passed within a few feet of their place +of concealment, and emerged by the door at which they had entered. + +“Hist!” cried the lad who held the door. “Dow.” + +Noah exchanged a look with Fagin, and darted out. + +“To the left,” whispered the lad; “take the left had, and keep od the +other side.” + +He did so; and, by the light of the lamps, saw the girl’s retreating +figure, already at some distance before him. He advanced as near as he +considered prudent, and kept on the opposite side of the street, the +better to observe her motions. She looked nervously round, twice or +thrice, and once stopped to let two men who were following close behind +her, pass on. She seemed to gather courage as she advanced, and to walk +with a steadier and firmer step. The spy preserved the same relative +distance between them, and followed: with his eye upon her. + + + + + CHAPTER XLVI. +THE APPOINTMENT KEPT + + +The church clocks chimed three quarters past eleven, as two figures +emerged on London Bridge. One, which advanced with a swift and rapid +step, was that of a woman who looked eagerly about her as though in +quest of some expected object; the other figure was that of a man, who +slunk along in the deepest shadow he could find, and, at some distance, +accommodated his pace to hers: stopping when she stopped: and as she +moved again, creeping stealthily on: but never allowing himself, in the +ardour of his pursuit, to gain upon her footsteps. Thus, they crossed +the bridge, from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore, when the woman, +apparently disappointed in her anxious scrutiny of the foot-passengers, +turned back. The movement was sudden; but he who watched her, was not +thrown off his guard by it; for, shrinking into one of the recesses +which surmount the piers of the bridge, and leaning over the parapet +the better to conceal his figure, he suffered her to pass on the +opposite pavement. When she was about the same distance in advance as +she had been before, he slipped quietly down, and followed her again. +At nearly the centre of the bridge, she stopped. The man stopped too. + +It was a very dark night. The day had been unfavourable, and at that +hour and place there were few people stirring. Such as there were, +hurried quickly past: very possibly without seeing, but certainly +without noticing, either the woman, or the man who kept her in view. +Their appearance was not calculated to attract the importunate regards +of such of London’s destitute population, as chanced to take their way +over the bridge that night in search of some cold arch or doorless +hovel wherein to lay their heads; they stood there in silence: neither +speaking nor spoken to, by any one who passed. + +A mist hung over the river, deepening the red glare of the fires that +burnt upon the small craft moored off the different wharfs, and +rendering darker and more indistinct the murky buildings on the banks. +The old smoke-stained storehouses on either side, rose heavy and dull +from the dense mass of roofs and gables, and frowned sternly upon water +too black to reflect even their lumbering shapes. The tower of old +Saint Saviour’s Church, and the spire of Saint Magnus, so long the +giant-warders of the ancient bridge, were visible in the gloom; but the +forest of shipping below bridge, and the thickly scattered spires of +churches above, were nearly all hidden from sight. + +The girl had taken a few restless turns to and fro—closely watched +meanwhile by her hidden observer—when the heavy bell of St. Paul’s +tolled for the death of another day. Midnight had come upon the crowded +city. The palace, the night-cellar, the jail, the madhouse: the +chambers of birth and death, of health and sickness, the rigid face of +the corpse and the calm sleep of the child: midnight was upon them all. + +The hour had not struck two minutes, when a young lady, accompanied by +a grey-haired gentleman, alighted from a hackney-carriage within a +short distance of the bridge, and, having dismissed the vehicle, walked +straight towards it. They had scarcely set foot upon its pavement, when +the girl started, and immediately made towards them. + +They walked onward, looking about them with the air of persons who +entertained some very slight expectation which had little chance of +being realised, when they were suddenly joined by this new associate. +They halted with an exclamation of surprise, but suppressed it +immediately; for a man in the garments of a countryman came close +up—brushed against them, indeed—at that precise moment. + +“Not here,” said Nancy hurriedly, “I am afraid to speak to you here. +Come away—out of the public road—down the steps yonder!” + +As she uttered these words, and indicated, with her hand, the direction +in which she wished them to proceed, the countryman looked round, and +roughly asking what they took up the whole pavement for, passed on. + +The steps to which the girl had pointed, were those which, on the +Surrey bank, and on the same side of the bridge as Saint Saviour’s +Church, form a landing-stairs from the river. To this spot, the man +bearing the appearance of a countryman, hastened unobserved; and after +a moment’s survey of the place, he began to descend. + +These stairs are a part of the bridge; they consist of three flights. +Just below the end of the second, going down, the stone wall on the +left terminates in an ornamental pilaster facing towards the Thames. At +this point the lower steps widen: so that a person turning that angle +of the wall, is necessarily unseen by any others on the stairs who +chance to be above him, if only a step. The countryman looked hastily +round, when he reached this point; and as there seemed no better place +of concealment, and, the tide being out, there was plenty of room, he +slipped aside, with his back to the pilaster, and there waited: pretty +certain that they would come no lower, and that even if he could not +hear what was said, he could follow them again, with safety. + +So tardily stole the time in this lonely place, and so eager was the +spy to penetrate the motives of an interview so different from what he +had been led to expect, that he more than once gave the matter up for +lost, and persuaded himself, either that they had stopped far above, or +had resorted to some entirely different spot to hold their mysterious +conversation. He was on the point of emerging from his hiding-place, +and regaining the road above, when he heard the sound of footsteps, and +directly afterwards of voices almost close at his ear. + +He drew himself straight upright against the wall, and, scarcely +breathing, listened attentively. + +“This is far enough,” said a voice, which was evidently that of the +gentleman. “I will not suffer the young lady to go any farther. Many +people would have distrusted you too much to have come even so far, but +you see I am willing to humour you.” + +“To humour me!” cried the voice of the girl whom he had followed. +“You’re considerate, indeed, sir. To humour me! Well, well, it’s no +matter.” + +“Why, for what,” said the gentleman in a kinder tone, “for what purpose +can you have brought us to this strange place? Why not have let me +speak to you, above there, where it is light, and there is something +stirring, instead of bringing us to this dark and dismal hole?” + +“I told you before,” replied Nancy, “that I was afraid to speak to you +there. I don’t know why it is,” said the girl, shuddering, “but I have +such a fear and dread upon me tonight that I can hardly stand.” + +“A fear of what?” asked the gentleman, who seemed to pity her. + +“I scarcely know of what,” replied the girl. “I wish I did. Horrible +thoughts of death, and shrouds with blood upon them, and a fear that +has made me burn as if I was on fire, have been upon me all day. I was +reading a book tonight, to wile the time away, and the same things +came into the print.” + +“Imagination,” said the gentleman, soothing her. + +“No imagination,” replied the girl in a hoarse voice. “I’ll swear I saw +‘coffin’ written in every page of the book in large black letters,—aye, +and they carried one close to me, in the streets tonight.” + +“There is nothing unusual in that,” said the gentleman. “They have +passed me often.” + +“_Real ones_,” rejoined the girl. “This was not.” + +There was something so uncommon in her manner, that the flesh of the +concealed listener crept as he heard the girl utter these words, and +the blood chilled within him. He had never experienced a greater relief +than in hearing the sweet voice of the young lady as she begged her to +be calm, and not allow herself to become the prey of such fearful +fancies. + +“Speak to her kindly,” said the young lady to her companion. “Poor +creature! She seems to need it.” + +“Your haughty religious people would have held their heads up to see me +as I am tonight, and preached of flames and vengeance,” cried the +girl. “Oh, dear lady, why ar’n’t those who claim to be God’s own folks +as gentle and as kind to us poor wretches as you, who, having youth, +and beauty, and all that they have lost, might be a little proud +instead of so much humbler?” + +“Ah!” said the gentleman. “A Turk turns his face, after washing it +well, to the East, when he says his prayers; these good people, after +giving their faces such a rub against the World as to take the smiles +off, turn with no less regularity, to the darkest side of Heaven. +Between the Mussulman and the Pharisee, commend me to the first!” + +These words appeared to be addressed to the young lady, and were +perhaps uttered with the view of affording Nancy time to recover +herself. The gentleman, shortly afterwards, addressed himself to her. + +“You were not here last Sunday night,” he said. + +“I couldn’t come,” replied Nancy; “I was kept by force.” + +“By whom?” + +“Him that I told the young lady of before.” + +“You were not suspected of holding any communication with anybody on +the subject which has brought us here tonight, I hope?” asked the old +gentleman. + +“No,” replied the girl, shaking her head. “It’s not very easy for me to +leave him unless he knows why; I couldn’t give him a drink of laudanum +before I came away.” + +“Did he awake before you returned?” inquired the gentleman. + +“No; and neither he nor any of them suspect me.” + +“Good,” said the gentleman. “Now listen to me.” + +“I am ready,” replied the girl, as he paused for a moment. + +“This young lady,” the gentleman began, “has communicated to me, and to +some other friends who can be safely trusted, what you told her nearly +a fortnight since. I confess to you that I had doubts, at first, +whether you were to be implicitly relied upon, but now I firmly believe +you are.” + +“I am,” said the girl earnestly. + +“I repeat that I firmly believe it. To prove to you that I am disposed +to trust you, I tell you without reserve, that we propose to extort the +secret, whatever it may be, from the fear of this man Monks. But +if—if—” said the gentleman, “he cannot be secured, or, if secured, +cannot be acted upon as we wish, you must deliver up the Jew.” + +“Fagin,” cried the girl, recoiling. + +“That man must be delivered up by you,” said the gentleman. + +“I will not do it! I will never do it!” replied the girl. “Devil that +he is, and worse than devil as he has been to me, I will never do +that.” + +“You will not?” said the gentleman, who seemed fully prepared for this +answer. + +“Never!” returned the girl. + +“Tell me why?” + +“For one reason,” rejoined the girl firmly, “for one reason, that the +lady knows and will stand by me in, I know she will, for I have her +promise: and for this other reason, besides, that, bad life as he has +led, I have led a bad life too; there are many of us who have kept the +same courses together, and I’ll not turn upon them, who might—any of +them—have turned upon me, but didn’t, bad as they are.” + +“Then,” said the gentleman, quickly, as if this had been the point he +had been aiming to attain; “put Monks into my hands, and leave him to +me to deal with.” + +“What if he turns against the others?” + +“I promise you that in that case, if the truth is forced from him, +there the matter will rest; there must be circumstances in Oliver’s +little history which it would be painful to drag before the public eye, +and if the truth is once elicited, they shall go scot free.” + +“And if it is not?” suggested the girl. + +“Then,” pursued the gentleman, “this Fagin shall not be brought to +justice without your consent. In such a case I could show you reasons, +I think, which would induce you to yield it.” + +“Have I the lady’s promise for that?” asked the girl. + +“You have,” replied Rose. “My true and faithful pledge.” + +“Monks would never learn how you knew what you do?” said the girl, +after a short pause. + +“Never,” replied the gentleman. “The intelligence should be brought to +bear upon him, that he could never even guess.” + +“I have been a liar, and among liars from a little child,” said the +girl after another interval of silence, “but I will take your words.” + +After receiving an assurance from both, that she might safely do so, +she proceeded in a voice so low that it was often difficult for the +listener to discover even the purport of what she said, to describe, by +name and situation, the public-house whence she had been followed that +night. From the manner in which she occasionally paused, it appeared as +if the gentleman were making some hasty notes of the information she +communicated. When she had thoroughly explained the localities of the +place, the best position from which to watch it without exciting +observation, and the night and hour on which Monks was most in the +habit of frequenting it, she seemed to consider for a few moments, for +the purpose of recalling his features and appearances more forcibly to +her recollection. + +“He is tall,” said the girl, “and a strongly made man, but not stout; +he has a lurking walk; and as he walks, constantly looks over his +shoulder, first on one side, and then on the other. Don’t forget that, +for his eyes are sunk in his head so much deeper than any other man’s, +that you might almost tell him by that alone. His face is dark, like +his hair and eyes; and, although he can’t be more than six or eight and +twenty, withered and haggard. His lips are often discoloured and +disfigured with the marks of teeth; for he has desperate fits, and +sometimes even bites his hands and covers them with wounds—why did you +start?” said the girl, stopping suddenly. + +The gentleman replied, in a hurried manner, that he was not conscious +of having done so, and begged her to proceed. + +“Part of this,” said the girl, “I have drawn out from other people at +the house I tell you of, for I have only seen him twice, and both times +he was covered up in a large cloak. I think that’s all I can give you +to know him by. Stay though,” she added. “Upon his throat: so high that +you can see a part of it below his neckerchief when he turns his face: +there is—” + +“A broad red mark, like a burn or scald?” cried the gentleman. + +“How’s this?” said the girl. “You know him!” + +The young lady uttered a cry of surprise, and for a few moments they +were so still that the listener could distinctly hear them breathe. + +“I think I do,” said the gentleman, breaking silence. “I should by your +description. We shall see. Many people are singularly like each other. +It may not be the same.” + +As he expressed himself to this effect, with assumed carelessness, he +took a step or two nearer the concealed spy, as the latter could tell +from the distinctness with which he heard him mutter, “It must be he!” + +“Now,” he said, returning: so it seemed by the sound: to the spot where +he had stood before, “you have given us most valuable assistance, young +woman, and I wish you to be the better for it. What can I do to serve +you?” + +“Nothing,” replied Nancy. + +“You will not persist in saying that,” rejoined the gentleman, with a +voice and emphasis of kindness that might have touched a much harder +and more obdurate heart. “Think now. Tell me.” + +“Nothing, sir,” rejoined the girl, weeping. “You can do nothing to help +me. I am past all hope, indeed.” + +“You put yourself beyond its pale,” said the gentleman. “The past has +been a dreary waste with you, of youthful energies mis-spent, and such +priceless treasures lavished, as the Creator bestows but once and never +grants again, but, for the future, you may hope. I do not say that it +is in our power to offer you peace of heart and mind, for that must +come as you seek it; but a quiet asylum, either in England, or, if you +fear to remain here, in some foreign country, it is not only within the +compass of our ability but our most anxious wish to secure you. Before +the dawn of morning, before this river wakes to the first glimpse of +day-light, you shall be placed as entirely beyond the reach of your +former associates, and leave as utter an absence of all trace behind +you, as if you were to disappear from the earth this moment. Come! I +would not have you go back to exchange one word with any old companion, +or take one look at any old haunt, or breathe the very air which is +pestilence and death to you. Quit them all, while there is time and +opportunity!” + +“She will be persuaded now,” cried the young lady. “She hesitates, I am +sure.” + +“I fear not, my dear,” said the gentleman. + +“No sir, I do not,” replied the girl, after a short struggle. “I am +chained to my old life. I loathe and hate it now, but I cannot leave +it. I must have gone too far to turn back,—and yet I don’t know, for if +you had spoken to me so, some time ago, I should have laughed it off. +But,” she said, looking hastily round, “this fear comes over me again. +I must go home.” + +“Home!” repeated the young lady, with great stress upon the word. + +“Home, lady,” rejoined the girl. “To such a home as I have raised for +myself with the work of my whole life. Let us part. I shall be watched +or seen. Go! Go! If I have done you any service all I ask is, that you +leave me, and let me go my way alone.” + +“It is useless,” said the gentleman, with a sigh. “We compromise her +safety, perhaps, by staying here. We may have detained her longer than +she expected already.” + +“Yes, yes,” urged the girl. “You have.” + +“What,” cried the young lady, “can be the end of this poor creature’s +life!” + +“What!” repeated the girl. “Look before you, lady. Look at that dark +water. How many times do you read of such as I who spring into the +tide, and leave no living thing, to care for, or bewail them. It may be +years hence, or it may be only months, but I shall come to that at +last.” + +“Do not speak thus, pray,” returned the young lady, sobbing. + +“It will never reach your ears, dear lady, and God forbid such horrors +should!” replied the girl. “Good-night, good-night!” + +The gentleman turned away. + +“This purse,” cried the young lady. “Take it for my sake, that you may +have some resource in an hour of need and trouble.” + +“No!” replied the girl. “I have not done this for money. Let me have +that to think of. And yet—give me something that you have worn: I +should like to have something—no, no, not a ring—your gloves or +handkerchief—anything that I can keep, as having belonged to you, sweet +lady. There. Bless you! God bless you. Good-night, good-night!” + +The violent agitation of the girl, and the apprehension of some +discovery which would subject her to ill-usage and violence, seemed to +determine the gentleman to leave her, as she requested. + +The sound of retreating footsteps were audible and the voices ceased. + +The two figures of the young lady and her companion soon afterwards +appeared upon the bridge. They stopped at the summit of the stairs. + +“Hark!” cried the young lady, listening. “Did she call! I thought I +heard her voice.” + +“No, my love,” replied Mr. Brownlow, looking sadly back. “She has not +moved, and will not till we are gone.” + +Rose Maylie lingered, but the old gentleman drew her arm through his, +and led her, with gentle force, away. As they disappeared, the girl +sunk down nearly at her full length upon one of the stone stairs, and +vented the anguish of her heart in bitter tears. + +After a time she arose, and with feeble and tottering steps ascended +the street. The astonished listener remained motionless on his post for +some minutes afterwards, and having ascertained, with many cautious +glances round him, that he was again alone, crept slowly from his +hiding-place, and returned, stealthily and in the shade of the wall, in +the same manner as he had descended. + +Peeping out, more than once, when he reached the top, to make sure that +he was unobserved, Noah Claypole darted away at his utmost speed, and +made for the Jew’s house as fast as his legs would carry him. + + + + + CHAPTER XLVII. +FATAL CONSEQUENCES + + +It was nearly two hours before day-break; that time which in the autumn +of the year, may be truly called the dead of night; when the streets +are silent and deserted; when even sounds appear to slumber, and +profligacy and riot have staggered home to dream; it was at this still +and silent hour, that Fagin sat watching in his old lair, with face so +distorted and pale, and eyes so red and blood-shot, that he looked less +like a man, than like some hideous phantom, moist from the grave, and +worried by an evil spirit. + +He sat crouching over a cold hearth, wrapped in an old torn coverlet, +with his face turned towards a wasting candle that stood upon a table +by his side. His right hand was raised to his lips, and as, absorbed in +thought, he bit his long black nails, he disclosed among his toothless +gums a few such fangs as should have been a dog’s or rat’s. + +Stretched upon a mattress on the floor, lay Noah Claypole, fast asleep. +Towards him the old man sometimes directed his eyes for an instant, and +then brought them back again to the candle; which with a long-burnt +wick drooping almost double, and hot grease falling down in clots upon +the table, plainly showed that his thoughts were busy elsewhere. + +Indeed they were. Mortification at the overthrow of his notable scheme; +hatred of the girl who had dared to palter with strangers; and utter +distrust of the sincerity of her refusal to yield him up; bitter +disappointment at the loss of his revenge on Sikes; the fear of +detection, and ruin, and death; and a fierce and deadly rage kindled by +all; these were the passionate considerations which, following close +upon each other with rapid and ceaseless whirl, shot through the brain +of Fagin, as every evil thought and blackest purpose lay working at his +heart. + +He sat without changing his attitude in the least, or appearing to take +the smallest heed of time, until his quick ear seemed to be attracted +by a footstep in the street. + +“At last,” he muttered, wiping his dry and fevered mouth. “At last!” + +The bell rang gently as he spoke. He crept upstairs to the door, and +presently returned accompanied by a man muffled to the chin, who +carried a bundle under one arm. Sitting down and throwing back his +outer coat, the man displayed the burly frame of Sikes. + +“There!” he said, laying the bundle on the table. “Take care of that, +and do the most you can with it. It’s been trouble enough to get; I +thought I should have been here, three hours ago.” + +Fagin laid his hand upon the bundle, and locking it in the cupboard, +sat down again without speaking. But he did not take his eyes off the +robber, for an instant, during this action; and now that they sat over +against each other, face to face, he looked fixedly at him, with his +lips quivering so violently, and his face so altered by the emotions +which had mastered him, that the housebreaker involuntarily drew back +his chair, and surveyed him with a look of real affright. + +“Wot now?” cried Sikes. “Wot do you look at a man so for?” + +Fagin raised his right hand, and shook his trembling forefinger in the +air; but his passion was so great, that the power of speech was for the +moment gone. + +“Damme!” said Sikes, feeling in his breast with a look of alarm. “He’s +gone mad. I must look to myself here.” + +“No, no,” rejoined Fagin, finding his voice. “It’s not—you’re not the +person, Bill. I’ve no—no fault to find with you.” + +“Oh, you haven’t, haven’t you?” said Sikes, looking sternly at him, and +ostentatiously passing a pistol into a more convenient pocket. “That’s +lucky—for one of us. Which one that is, don’t matter.” + +“I’ve got that to tell you, Bill,” said Fagin, drawing his chair +nearer, “will make you worse than me.” + +“Aye?” returned the robber with an incredulous air. “Tell away! Look +sharp, or Nance will think I’m lost.” + +“Lost!” cried Fagin. “She has pretty well settled that, in her own +mind, already.” + +Sikes looked with an aspect of great perplexity into the Jew’s face, +and reading no satisfactory explanation of the riddle there, clenched +his coat collar in his huge hand and shook him soundly. + +“Speak, will you!” he said; “or if you don’t, it shall be for want of +breath. Open your mouth and say wot you’ve got to say in plain words. +Out with it, you thundering old cur, out with it!” + +“Suppose that lad that’s laying there—” Fagin began. + +Sikes turned round to where Noah was sleeping, as if he had not +previously observed him. “Well!” he said, resuming his former position. + +“Suppose that lad,” pursued Fagin, “was to peach—to blow upon us +all—first seeking out the right folks for the purpose, and then having +a meeting with ’em in the street to paint our likenesses, describe +every mark that they might know us by, and the crib where we might be +most easily taken. Suppose he was to do all this, and besides to blow +upon a plan we’ve all been in, more or less—of his own fancy; not +grabbed, trapped, tried, earwigged by the parson and brought to it on +bread and water,—but of his own fancy; to please his own taste; +stealing out at nights to find those most interested against us, and +peaching to them. Do you hear me?” cried the Jew, his eyes flashing +with rage. “Suppose he did all this, what then?” + +“What then!” replied Sikes; with a tremendous oath. “If he was left +alive till I came, I’d grind his skull under the iron heel of my boot +into as many grains as there are hairs upon his head.” + +“What if I did it!” cried Fagin almost in a yell. “I, that knows so +much, and could hang so many besides myself!” + +“I don’t know,” replied Sikes, clenching his teeth and turning white at +the mere suggestion. “I’d do something in the jail that ’ud get me put +in irons; and if I was tried along with you, I’d fall upon you with +them in the open court, and beat your brains out afore the people. I +should have such strength,” muttered the robber, poising his brawny +arm, “that I could smash your head as if a loaded waggon had gone over +it.” + +“You would?” + +“Would I!” said the housebreaker. “Try me.” + +“If it was Charley, or the Dodger, or Bet, or—” + +“I don’t care who,” replied Sikes impatiently. “Whoever it was, I’d +serve them the same.” + +Fagin looked hard at the robber; and, motioning him to be silent, +stooped over the bed upon the floor, and shook the sleeper to rouse +him. Sikes leant forward in his chair: looking on with his hands upon +his knees, as if wondering much what all this questioning and +preparation was to end in. + +“Bolter, Bolter! Poor lad!” said Fagin, looking up with an expression +of devilish anticipation, and speaking slowly and with marked emphasis. +“He’s tired—tired with watching for her so long,—watching for _her_, +Bill.” + +“Wot d’ye mean?” asked Sikes, drawing back. + +Fagin made no answer, but bending over the sleeper again, hauled him +into a sitting posture. When his assumed name had been repeated several +times, Noah rubbed his eyes, and, giving a heavy yawn, looked sleepily +about him. + +“Tell me that again—once again, just for him to hear,” said the Jew, +pointing to Sikes as he spoke. + +“Tell yer what?” asked the sleepy Noah, shaking himself pettishly. + +“That about— _Nancy_,” said Fagin, clutching Sikes by the wrist, as if +to prevent his leaving the house before he had heard enough. “You +followed her?” + +“Yes.” + +“To London Bridge?” + +“Yes.” + +“Where she met two people.” + +“So she did.” + +“A gentleman and a lady that she had gone to of her own accord before, +who asked her to give up all her pals, and Monks first, which she +did—and to describe him, which she did—and to tell her what house it +was that we meet at, and go to, which she did—and where it could be +best watched from, which she did—and what time the people went there, +which she did. She did all this. She told it all every word without a +threat, without a murmur—she did—did she not?” cried Fagin, half mad +with fury. + +“All right,” replied Noah, scratching his head. “That’s just what it +was!” + +“What did they say, about last Sunday?” + +“About last Sunday!” replied Noah, considering. “Why I told yer that +before.” + +“Again. Tell it again!” cried Fagin, tightening his grasp on Sikes, and +brandishing his other hand aloft, as the foam flew from his lips. + +“They asked her,” said Noah, who, as he grew more wakeful, seemed to +have a dawning perception who Sikes was, “they asked her why she didn’t +come, last Sunday, as she promised. She said she couldn’t.” + +“Why—why? Tell him that.” + +“Because she was forcibly kept at home by Bill, the man she had told +them of before,” replied Noah. + +“What more of him?” cried Fagin. “What more of the man she had told +them of before? Tell him that, tell him that.” + +“Why, that she couldn’t very easily get out of doors unless he knew +where she was going to,” said Noah; “and so the first time she went to +see the lady, she—ha! ha! ha! it made me laugh when she said it, that +it did—she gave him a drink of laudanum.” + +“Hell’s fire!” cried Sikes, breaking fiercely from the Jew. “Let me +go!” + +Flinging the old man from him, he rushed from the room, and darted, +wildly and furiously, up the stairs. + +“Bill, Bill!” cried Fagin, following him hastily. “A word. Only a +word.” + +The word would not have been exchanged, but that the housebreaker was +unable to open the door: on which he was expending fruitless oaths and +violence, when the Jew came panting up. + +“Let me out,” said Sikes. “Don’t speak to me; it’s not safe. Let me +out, I say!” + +“Hear me speak a word,” rejoined Fagin, laying his hand upon the lock. +“You won’t be—” + +“Well,” replied the other. + +“You won’t be—too—violent, Bill?” + +The day was breaking, and there was light enough for the men to see +each other’s faces. They exchanged one brief glance; there was a fire +in the eyes of both, which could not be mistaken. + +“I mean,” said Fagin, showing that he felt all disguise was now +useless, “not too violent for safety. Be crafty, Bill, and not too +bold.” + +Sikes made no reply; but, pulling open the door, of which Fagin had +turned the lock, dashed into the silent streets. + +Without one pause, or moment’s consideration; without once turning his +head to the right or left, or raising his eyes to the sky, or lowering +them to the ground, but looking straight before him with savage +resolution: his teeth so tightly compressed that the strained jaw +seemed starting through his skin; the robber held on his headlong +course, nor muttered a word, nor relaxed a muscle, until he reached his +own door. He opened it, softly, with a key; strode lightly up the +stairs; and entering his own room, double-locked the door, and lifting +a heavy table against it, drew back the curtain of the bed. + +The girl was lying, half-dressed, upon it. He had roused her from her +sleep, for she raised herself with a hurried and startled look. + +“Get up!” said the man. + +“It is you, Bill!” said the girl, with an expression of pleasure at his +return. + +“It is,” was the reply. “Get up.” + +There was a candle burning, but the man hastily drew it from the +candlestick, and hurled it under the grate. Seeing the faint light of +early day without, the girl rose to undraw the curtain. + +“Let it be,” said Sikes, thrusting his hand before her. “There’s enough +light for wot I’ve got to do.” + +“Bill,” said the girl, in the low voice of alarm, “why do you look like +that at me!” + +The robber sat regarding her, for a few seconds, with dilated nostrils +and heaving breast; and then, grasping her by the head and throat, +dragged her into the middle of the room, and looking once towards the +door, placed his heavy hand upon her mouth. + +“Bill, Bill!” gasped the girl, wrestling with the strength of mortal +fear,—“I—I won’t scream or cry—not once—hear me—speak to me—tell me +what I have done!” + +“You know, you she devil!” returned the robber, suppressing his breath. +“You were watched tonight; every word you said was heard.” + +“Then spare my life for the love of Heaven, as I spared yours,” +rejoined the girl, clinging to him. “Bill, dear Bill, you cannot have +the heart to kill me. Oh! think of all I have given up, only this one +night, for you. You _shall_ have time to think, and save yourself this +crime; I will not loose my hold, you cannot throw me off. Bill, Bill, +for dear God’s sake, for your own, for mine, stop before you spill my +blood! I have been true to you, upon my guilty soul I have!” + +The man struggled violently, to release his arms; but those of the girl +were clasped round his, and tear her as he would, he could not tear +them away. + +“Bill,” cried the girl, striving to lay her head upon his breast, “the +gentleman and that dear lady, told me tonight of a home in some +foreign country where I could end my days in solitude and peace. Let me +see them again, and beg them, on my knees, to show the same mercy and +goodness to you; and let us both leave this dreadful place, and far +apart lead better lives, and forget how we have lived, except in +prayers, and never see each other more. It is never too late to repent. +They told me so—I feel it now—but we must have time—a little, little +time!” + +The housebreaker freed one arm, and grasped his pistol. The certainty +of immediate detection if he fired, flashed across his mind even in the +midst of his fury; and he beat it twice with all the force he could +summon, upon the upturned face that almost touched his own. + +She staggered and fell: nearly blinded with the blood that rained down +from a deep gash in her forehead; but raising herself, with difficulty, +on her knees, drew from her bosom a white handkerchief—Rose Maylie’s +own—and holding it up, in her folded hands, as high towards Heaven as +her feeble strength would allow, breathed one prayer for mercy to her +Maker. + +It was a ghastly figure to look upon. The murderer staggering backward +to the wall, and shutting out the sight with his hand, seized a heavy +club and struck her down. + + + + + CHAPTER XLVIII. +THE FLIGHT OF SIKES + + +Of all bad deeds that, under cover of the darkness, had been committed +within wide London’s bounds since night hung over it, that was the +worst. Of all the horrors that rose with an ill scent upon the morning +air, that was the foulest and most cruel. + +The sun—the bright sun, that brings back, not light alone, but new +life, and hope, and freshness to man—burst upon the crowded city in +clear and radiant glory. Through costly-coloured glass and paper-mended +window, through cathedral dome and rotten crevice, it shed its equal +ray. It lighted up the room where the murdered woman lay. It did. He +tried to shut it out, but it would stream in. If the sight had been a +ghastly one in the dull morning, what was it, now, in all that +brilliant light! + +He had not moved; he had been afraid to stir. There had been a moan and +motion of the hand; and, with terror added to rage, he had struck and +struck again. Once he threw a rug over it; but it was worse to fancy +the eyes, and imagine them moving towards him, than to see them glaring +upward, as if watching the reflection of the pool of gore that quivered +and danced in the sunlight on the ceiling. He had plucked it off again. +And there was the body—mere flesh and blood, no more—but such flesh, +and so much blood! + +He struck a light, kindled a fire, and thrust the club into it. There +was hair upon the end, which blazed and shrunk into a light cinder, +and, caught by the air, whirled up the chimney. Even that frightened +him, sturdy as he was; but he held the weapon till it broke, and then +piled it on the coals to burn away, and smoulder into ashes. He washed +himself, and rubbed his clothes; there were spots that would not be +removed, but he cut the pieces out, and burnt them. How those stains +were dispersed about the room! The very feet of the dog were bloody. + +All this time he had, never once, turned his back upon the corpse; no, +not for a moment. Such preparations completed, he moved, backward, +towards the door: dragging the dog with him, lest he should soil his +feet anew and carry out new evidence of the crime into the streets. He +shut the door softly, locked it, took the key, and left the house. + +He crossed over, and glanced up at the window, to be sure that nothing +was visible from the outside. There was the curtain still drawn, which +she would have opened to admit the light she never saw again. It lay +nearly under there. _He_ knew that. God, how the sun poured down upon +the very spot! + +The glance was instantaneous. It was a relief to have got free of the +room. He whistled on the dog, and walked rapidly away. + +He went through Islington; strode up the hill at Highgate on which +stands the stone in honour of Whittington; turned down to Highgate +Hill, unsteady of purpose, and uncertain where to go; struck off to the +right again, almost as soon as he began to descend it; and taking the +foot-path across the fields, skirted Caen Wood, and so came on +Hampstead Heath. Traversing the hollow by the Vale of Heath, he mounted +the opposite bank, and crossing the road which joins the villages of +Hampstead and Highgate, made along the remaining portion of the heath +to the fields at North End, in one of which he laid himself down under +a hedge, and slept. + +Soon he was up again, and away,—not far into the country, but back +towards London by the high-road—then back again—then over another part +of the same ground as he already traversed—then wandering up and down +in fields, and lying on ditches’ brinks to rest, and starting up to +make for some other spot, and do the same, and ramble on again. + +Where could he go, that was near and not too public, to get some meat +and drink? Hendon. That was a good place, not far off, and out of most +people’s way. Thither he directed his steps,—running sometimes, and +sometimes, with a strange perversity, loitering at a snail’s pace, or +stopping altogether and idly breaking the hedges with a stick. But when +he got there, all the people he met—the very children at the +doors—seemed to view him with suspicion. Back he turned again, without +the courage to purchase bit or drop, though he had tasted no food for +many hours; and once more he lingered on the Heath, uncertain where to +go. + +He wandered over miles and miles of ground, and still came back to the +old place. Morning and noon had passed, and the day was on the wane, +and still he rambled to and fro, and up and down, and round and round, +and still lingered about the same spot. At last he got away, and shaped +his course for Hatfield. + +It was nine o’clock at night, when the man, quite tired out, and the +dog, limping and lame from the unaccustomed exercise, turned down the +hill by the church of the quiet village, and plodding along the little +street, crept into a small public-house, whose scanty light had guided +them to the spot. There was a fire in the tap-room, and some +country-labourers were drinking before it. + +They made room for the stranger, but he sat down in the furthest +corner, and ate and drank alone, or rather with his dog: to whom he +cast a morsel of food from time to time. + +The conversation of the men assembled here, turned upon the +neighbouring land, and farmers; and when those topics were exhausted, +upon the age of some old man who had been buried on the previous +Sunday; the young men present considering him very old, and the old men +present declaring him to have been quite young—not older, one +white-haired grandfather said, than he was—with ten or fifteen year of +life in him at least—if he had taken care; if he had taken care. + +There was nothing to attract attention, or excite alarm in this. The +robber, after paying his reckoning, sat silent and unnoticed in his +corner, and had almost dropped asleep, when he was half wakened by the +noisy entrance of a new comer. + +This was an antic fellow, half pedlar and half mountebank, who +travelled about the country on foot to vend hones, strops, razors, +washballs, harness-paste, medicine for dogs and horses, cheap +perfumery, cosmetics, and such-like wares, which he carried in a case +slung to his back. His entrance was the signal for various homely jokes +with the countrymen, which slackened not until he had made his supper, +and opened his box of treasures, when he ingeniously contrived to unite +business with amusement. + +“And what be that stoof? Good to eat, Harry?” asked a grinning +countryman, pointing to some composition-cakes in one corner. + +“This,” said the fellow, producing one, “this is the infallible and +invaluable composition for removing all sorts of stain, rust, dirt, +mildew, spick, speck, spot, or spatter, from silk, satin, linen, +cambric, cloth, crape, stuff, carpet, merino, muslin, bombazeen, or +woollen stuff. Wine-stains, fruit-stains, beer-stains, water-stains, +paint-stains, pitch-stains, any stains, all come out at one rub with +the infallible and invaluable composition. If a lady stains her honour, +she has only need to swallow one cake and she’s cured at once—for it’s +poison. If a gentleman wants to prove this, he has only need to bolt +one little square, and he has put it beyond question—for it’s quite as +satisfactory as a pistol-bullet, and a great deal nastier in the +flavour, consequently the more credit in taking it. One penny a square. +With all these virtues, one penny a square!” + +There were two buyers directly, and more of the listeners plainly +hesitated. The vendor observing this, increased in loquacity. + +“It’s all bought up as fast as it can be made,” said the fellow. “There +are fourteen water-mills, six steam-engines, and a galvanic battery, +always a-working upon it, and they can’t make it fast enough, though +the men work so hard that they die off, and the widows is pensioned +directly, with twenty pound a-year for each of the children, and a +premium of fifty for twins. One penny a square! Two half-pence is all +the same, and four farthings is received with joy. One penny a square! +Wine-stains, fruit-stains, beer-stains, water-stains, paint-stains, +pitch-stains, mud-stains, blood-stains! Here is a stain upon the hat of +a gentleman in company, that I’ll take clean out, before he can order +me a pint of ale.” + +“Hah!” cried Sikes starting up. “Give that back.” + +“I’ll take it clean out, sir,” replied the man, winking to the company, +“before you can come across the room to get it. Gentlemen all, observe +the dark stain upon this gentleman’s hat, no wider than a shilling, but +thicker than a half-crown. Whether it is a wine-stain, fruit-stain, +beer-stain, water-stain, paint-stain, pitch-stain, mud-stain, or +blood-stain—” + +The man got no further, for Sikes with a hideous imprecation overthrew +the table, and tearing the hat from him, burst out of the house. + +With the same perversity of feeling and irresolution that had fastened +upon him, despite himself, all day, the murderer, finding that he was +not followed, and that they most probably considered him some drunken +sullen fellow, turned back up the town, and getting out of the glare of +the lamps of a stage-coach that was standing in the street, was walking +past, when he recognised the mail from London, and saw that it was +standing at the little post-office. He almost knew what was to come; +but he crossed over, and listened. + +The guard was standing at the door, waiting for the letter-bag. A man, +dressed like a game-keeper, came up at the moment, and he handed him a +basket which lay ready on the pavement. + +“That’s for your people,” said the guard. “Now, look alive in there, +will you. Damn that ’ere bag, it warn’t ready night afore last; this +won’t do, you know!” + +“Anything new up in town, Ben?” asked the game-keeper, drawing back to +the window-shutters, the better to admire the horses. + +“No, nothing that I knows on,” replied the man, pulling on his gloves. +“Corn’s up a little. I heerd talk of a murder, too, down Spitalfields +way, but I don’t reckon much upon it.” + +“Oh, that’s quite true,” said a gentleman inside, who was looking out +of the window. “And a dreadful murder it was.” + +“Was it, sir?” rejoined the guard, touching his hat. “Man or woman, +pray, sir?” + +“A woman,” replied the gentleman. “It is supposed—” + +“Now, Ben,” replied the coachman impatiently. + +“Damn that ’ere bag,” said the guard; “are you gone to sleep in there?” + +“Coming!” cried the office keeper, running out. + +“Coming,” growled the guard. “Ah, and so’s the young ’ooman of property +that’s going to take a fancy to me, but I don’t know when. Here, give +hold. All ri—ight!” + +The horn sounded a few cheerful notes, and the coach was gone. + +Sikes remained standing in the street, apparently unmoved by what he +had just heard, and agitated by no stronger feeling than a doubt where +to go. At length he went back again, and took the road which leads from +Hatfield to St. Albans. + +He went on doggedly; but as he left the town behind him, and plunged +into the solitude and darkness of the road, he felt a dread and awe +creeping upon him which shook him to the core. Every object before him, +substance or shadow, still or moving, took the semblance of some +fearful thing; but these fears were nothing compared to the sense that +haunted him of that morning’s ghastly figure following at his heels. He +could trace its shadow in the gloom, supply the smallest item of the +outline, and note how stiff and solemn it seemed to stalk along. He +could hear its garments rustling in the leaves, and every breath of +wind came laden with that last low cry. If he stopped it did the same. +If he ran, it followed—not running too: that would have been a relief: +but like a corpse endowed with the mere machinery of life, and borne on +one slow melancholy wind that never rose or fell. + +At times, he turned, with desperate determination, resolved to beat +this phantom off, though it should look him dead; but the hair rose on +his head, and his blood stood still, for it had turned with him and was +behind him then. He had kept it before him that morning, but it was +behind now—always. He leaned his back against a bank, and felt that it +stood above him, visibly out against the cold night-sky. He threw +himself upon the road—on his back upon the road. At his head it stood, +silent, erect, and still—a living grave-stone, with its epitaph in +blood. + +Let no man talk of murderers escaping justice, and hint that Providence +must sleep. There were twenty score of violent deaths in one long +minute of that agony of fear. + +There was a shed in a field he passed, that offered shelter for the +night. Before the door, were three tall poplar trees, which made it +very dark within; and the wind moaned through them with a dismal wail. +He _could not_ walk on, till daylight came again; and here he stretched +himself close to the wall—to undergo new torture. + +For now, a vision came before him, as constant and more terrible than +that from which he had escaped. Those widely staring eyes, so +lustreless and so glassy, that he had better borne to see them than +think upon them, appeared in the midst of the darkness: light in +themselves, but giving light to nothing. There were but two, but they +were everywhere. If he shut out the sight, there came the room with +every well-known object—some, indeed, that he would have forgotten, if +he had gone over its contents from memory—each in its accustomed place. +The body was in _its_ place, and its eyes were as he saw them when he +stole away. He got up, and rushed into the field without. The figure +was behind him. He re-entered the shed, and shrunk down once more. The +eyes were there, before he had laid himself along. + +And here he remained in such terror as none but he can know, trembling +in every limb, and the cold sweat starting from every pore, when +suddenly there arose upon the night-wind the noise of distant shouting, +and the roar of voices mingled in alarm and wonder. Any sound of men in +that lonely place, even though it conveyed a real cause of alarm, was +something to him. He regained his strength and energy at the prospect +of personal danger; and springing to his feet, rushed into the open +air. + +The broad sky seemed on fire. Rising into the air with showers of +sparks, and rolling one above the other, were sheets of flame, lighting +the atmosphere for miles round, and driving clouds of smoke in the +direction where he stood. The shouts grew louder as new voices swelled +the roar, and he could hear the cry of Fire! mingled with the ringing +of an alarm-bell, the fall of heavy bodies, and the crackling of flames +as they twined round some new obstacle, and shot aloft as though +refreshed by food. The noise increased as he looked. There were people +there—men and women—light, bustle. It was like new life to him. He +darted onward—straight, headlong—dashing through brier and brake, and +leaping gate and fence as madly as his dog, who careered with loud and +sounding bark before him. + +He came upon the spot. There were half-dressed figures tearing to and +fro, some endeavouring to drag the frightened horses from the stables, +others driving the cattle from the yard and out-houses, and others +coming laden from the burning pile, amidst a shower of falling sparks, +and the tumbling down of red-hot beams. The apertures, where doors and +windows stood an hour ago, disclosed a mass of raging fire; walls +rocked and crumbled into the burning well; the molten lead and iron +poured down, white hot, upon the ground. Women and children shrieked, +and men encouraged each other with noisy shouts and cheers. The +clanking of the engine-pumps, and the spirting and hissing of the water +as it fell upon the blazing wood, added to the tremendous roar. He +shouted, too, till he was hoarse; and flying from memory and himself, +plunged into the thickest of the throng. Hither and thither he dived +that night: now working at the pumps, and now hurrying through the +smoke and flame, but never ceasing to engage himself wherever noise and +men were thickest. Up and down the ladders, upon the roofs of +buildings, over floors that quaked and trembled with his weight, under +the lee of falling bricks and stones, in every part of that great fire +was he; but he bore a charmed life, and had neither scratch nor bruise, +nor weariness nor thought, till morning dawned again, and only smoke +and blackened ruins remained. + +This mad excitement over, there returned, with ten-fold force, the +dreadful consciousness of his crime. He looked suspiciously about him, +for the men were conversing in groups, and he feared to be the subject +of their talk. The dog obeyed the significant beck of his finger, and +they drew off, stealthily, together. He passed near an engine where +some men were seated, and they called to him to share in their +refreshment. He took some bread and meat; and as he drank a draught of +beer, heard the firemen, who were from London, talking about the +murder. “He has gone to Birmingham, they say,” said one: “but they’ll +have him yet, for the scouts are out, and by tomorrow night there’ll +be a cry all through the country.” + +He hurried off, and walked till he almost dropped upon the ground; then +lay down in a lane, and had a long, but broken and uneasy sleep. He +wandered on again, irresolute and undecided, and oppressed with the +fear of another solitary night. + +Suddenly, he took the desperate resolution to going back to London. + +“There’s somebody to speak to there, at all event,” he thought. “A good +hiding-place, too. They’ll never expect to nab me there, after this +country scent. Why can’t I lie by for a week or so, and, forcing blunt +from Fagin, get abroad to France? Damme, I’ll risk it.” + +He acted upon this impulse without delay, and choosing the least +frequented roads began his journey back, resolved to lie concealed +within a short distance of the metropolis, and, entering it at dusk by +a circuitous route, to proceed straight to that part of it which he had +fixed on for his destination. + +The dog, though. If any description of him were out, it would not be +forgotten that the dog was missing, and had probably gone with him. +This might lead to his apprehension as he passed along the streets. He +resolved to drown him, and walked on, looking about for a pond: picking +up a heavy stone and tying it to his handkerchief as he went. + +The animal looked up into his master’s face while these preparations +were making; whether his instinct apprehended something of their +purpose, or the robber’s sidelong look at him was sterner than +ordinary, he skulked a little farther in the rear than usual, and +cowered as he came more slowly along. When his master halted at the +brink of a pool, and looked round to call him, he stopped outright. + +“Do you hear me call? Come here!” cried Sikes. + +The animal came up from the very force of habit; but as Sikes stooped +to attach the handkerchief to his throat, he uttered a low growl and +started back. + +“Come back!” said the robber. + +The dog wagged his tail, but moved not. Sikes made a running noose and +called him again. + +The dog advanced, retreated, paused an instant, and scoured away at his +hardest speed. + +The man whistled again and again, and sat down and waited in the +expectation that he would return. But no dog appeared, and at length he +resumed his journey. + + + + + CHAPTER XLIX. +MONKS AND MR. BROWNLOW AT LENGTH MEET. THEIR CONVERSATION, AND THE +INTELLIGENCE THAT INTERRUPTS IT + + +The twilight was beginning to close in, when Mr. Brownlow alighted from +a hackney-coach at his own door, and knocked softly. The door being +opened, a sturdy man got out of the coach and stationed himself on one +side of the steps, while another man, who had been seated on the box, +dismounted too, and stood upon the other side. At a sign from Mr. +Brownlow, they helped out a third man, and taking him between them, +hurried him into the house. This man was Monks. + +They walked in the same manner up the stairs without speaking, and Mr. +Brownlow, preceding them, led the way into a back-room. At the door of +this apartment, Monks, who had ascended with evident reluctance, +stopped. The two men looked at the old gentleman as if for +instructions. + +“He knows the alternative,” said Mr. Browlow. “If he hesitates or moves +a finger but as you bid him, drag him into the street, call for the aid +of the police, and impeach him as a felon in my name.” + +“How dare you say this of me?” asked Monks. + +“How dare you urge me to it, young man?” replied Mr. Brownlow, +confronting him with a steady look. “Are you mad enough to leave this +house? Unhand him. There, sir. You are free to go, and we to follow. +But I warn you, by all I hold most solemn and most sacred, that instant +will have you apprehended on a charge of fraud and robbery. I am +resolute and immoveable. If you are determined to be the same, your +blood be upon your own head!” + +“By what authority am I kidnapped in the street, and brought here by +these dogs?” asked Monks, looking from one to the other of the men who +stood beside him. + +“By mine,” replied Mr. Brownlow. “Those persons are indemnified by me. +If you complain of being deprived of your liberty—you had power and +opportunity to retrieve it as you came along, but you deemed it +advisable to remain quiet—I say again, throw yourself for protection on +the law. I will appeal to the law too; but when you have gone too far +to recede, do not sue to me for leniency, when the power will have +passed into other hands; and do not say I plunged you down the gulf +into which you rushed, yourself.” + +Monks was plainly disconcerted, and alarmed besides. He hesitated. + +“You will decide quickly,” said Mr. Brownlow, with perfect firmness and +composure. “If you wish me to prefer my charges publicly, and consign +you to a punishment the extent of which, although I can, with a +shudder, foresee, I cannot control, once more, I say, for you know the +way. If not, and you appeal to my forbearance, and the mercy of those +you have deeply injured, seat yourself, without a word, in that chair. +It has waited for you two whole days.” + +Monks muttered some unintelligible words, but wavered still. + +“You will be prompt,” said Mr. Brownlow. “A word from me, and the +alternative has gone for ever.” + +Still the man hesitated. + +“I have not the inclination to parley,” said Mr. Brownlow, “and, as I +advocate the dearest interests of others, I have not the right.” + +“Is there—” demanded Monks with a faltering tongue,—“is there—no middle +course?” + +“None.” + +Monks looked at the old gentleman, with an anxious eye; but, reading in +his countenance nothing but severity and determination, walked into the +room, and, shrugging his shoulders, sat down. + +“Lock the door on the outside,” said Mr. Brownlow to the attendants, +“and come when I ring.” + +The men obeyed, and the two were left alone together. + +“This is pretty treatment, sir,” said Monks, throwing down his hat and +cloak, “from my father’s oldest friend.” + +“It is because I was your father’s oldest friend, young man,” returned +Mr. Brownlow; “it is because the hopes and wishes of young and happy +years were bound up with him, and that fair creature of his blood and +kindred who rejoined her God in youth, and left me here a solitary, +lonely man: it is because he knelt with me beside his only sisters’s +death-bed when he was yet a boy, on the morning that would—but Heaven +willed otherwise—have made her my young wife; it is because my seared +heart clung to him, from that time forth, through all his trials and +errors, till he died; it is because old recollections and associations +filled my heart, and even the sight of you brings with it old thoughts +of him; it is because of all these things that I am moved to treat you +gently now—yes, Edward Leeford, even now—and blush for your +unworthiness who bear the name.” + +“What has the name to do with it?” asked the other, after +contemplating, half in silence, and half in dogged wonder, the +agitation of his companion. “What is the name to me?” + +“Nothing,” replied Mr. Brownlow, “nothing to you. But it was _hers_, +and even at this distance of time brings back to me, an old man, the +glow and thrill which I once felt, only to hear it repeated by a +stranger. I am very glad you have changed it—very—very.” + +“This is all mighty fine,” said Monks (to retain his assumed +designation) after a long silence, during which he had jerked himself +in sullen defiance to and fro, and Mr. Brownlow had sat, shading his +face with his hand. “But what do you want with me?” + +“You have a brother,” said Mr. Brownlow, rousing himself: “a brother, +the whisper of whose name in your ear when I came behind you in the +street, was, in itself, almost enough to make you accompany me hither, +in wonder and alarm.” + +“I have no brother,” replied Monks. “You know I was an only child. Why +do you talk to me of brothers? You know that, as well as I.” + +“Attend to what I do know, and you may not,” said Mr. Brownlow. “I +shall interest you by and by. I know that of the wretched marriage, +into which family pride, and the most sordid and narrowest of all +ambition, forced your unhappy father when a mere boy, you were the sole +and most unnatural issue.” + +“I don’t care for hard names,” interrupted Monks with a jeering laugh. +“You know the fact, and that’s enough for me.” + +“But I also know,” pursued the old gentleman, “the misery, the slow +torture, the protracted anguish of that ill-assorted union. I know how +listlessly and wearily each of that wretched pair dragged on their +heavy chain through a world that was poisoned to them both. I know how +cold formalities were succeeded by open taunts; how indifference gave +place to dislike, dislike to hate, and hate to loathing, until at last +they wrenched the clanking bond asunder, and retiring a wide space +apart, carried each a galling fragment, of which nothing but death +could break the rivets, to hide it in new society beneath the gayest +looks they could assume. Your mother succeeded; she forgot it soon. But +it rusted and cankered at your father’s heart for years.” + +“Well, they were separated,” said Monks, “and what of that?” + +“When they had been separated for some time,” returned Mr. Brownlow, +“and your mother, wholly given up to continental frivolities, had +utterly forgotten the young husband ten good years her junior, who, +with prospects blighted, lingered on at home, he fell among new +friends. This circumstance, at least, you know already.” + +“Not I,” said Monks, turning away his eyes and beating his foot upon +the ground, as a man who is determined to deny everything. “Not I.” + +“Your manner, no less than your actions, assures me that you have never +forgotten it, or ceased to think of it with bitterness,” returned Mr. +Brownlow. “I speak of fifteen years ago, when you were not more than +eleven years old, and your father but one-and-thirty—for he was, I +repeat, a boy, when _his_ father ordered him to marry. Must I go back +to events which cast a shade upon the memory of your parent, or will +you spare it, and disclose to me the truth?” + +“I have nothing to disclose,” rejoined Monks. “You must talk on if you +will.” + +“These new friends, then,” said Mr. Brownlow, “were a naval officer +retired from active service, whose wife had died some half-a-year +before, and left him with two children—there had been more, but, of all +their family, happily but two survived. They were both daughters; one a +beautiful creature of nineteen, and the other a mere child of two or +three years old.” + +“What’s this to me?” asked Monks. + +“They resided,” said Mr. Brownlow, without seeming to hear the +interruption, “in a part of the country to which your father in his +wandering had repaired, and where he had taken up his abode. +Acquaintance, intimacy, friendship, fast followed on each other. Your +father was gifted as few men are. He had his sister’s soul and person. +As the old officer knew him more and more, he grew to love him. I would +that it had ended there. His daughter did the same.” + +The old gentleman paused; Monks was biting his lips, with his eyes +fixed upon the floor; seeing this, he immediately resumed: + +“The end of a year found him contracted, solemnly contracted, to that +daughter; the object of the first, true, ardent, only passion of a +guileless girl.” + +“Your tale is of the longest,” observed Monks, moving restlessly in his +chair. + +“It is a true tale of grief and trial, and sorrow, young man,” returned +Mr. Brownlow, “and such tales usually are; if it were one of unmixed +joy and happiness, it would be very brief. At length one of those rich +relations to strengthen whose interest and importance your father had +been sacrificed, as others are often—it is no uncommon case—died, and +to repair the misery he had been instrumental in occasioning, left him +his panacea for all griefs—Money. It was necessary that he should +immediately repair to Rome, whither this man had sped for health, and +where he had died, leaving his affairs in great confusion. He went; was +seized with mortal illness there; was followed, the moment the +intelligence reached Paris, by your mother who carried you with her; he +died the day after her arrival, leaving no will—_no will_—so that the +whole property fell to her and you.” + +At this part of the recital Monks held his breath, and listened with a +face of intense eagerness, though his eyes were not directed towards +the speaker. As Mr. Brownlow paused, he changed his position with the +air of one who has experienced a sudden relief, and wiped his hot face +and hands. + +“Before he went abroad, and as he passed through London on his way,” +said Mr. Brownlow, slowly, and fixing his eyes upon the other’s face, +“he came to me.” + +“I never heard of that,” interrupted Monks in a tone intended to appear +incredulous, but savouring more of disagreeable surprise. + +“He came to me, and left with me, among some other things, a picture—a +portrait painted by himself—a likeness of this poor girl—which he did +not wish to leave behind, and could not carry forward on his hasty +journey. He was worn by anxiety and remorse almost to a shadow; talked +in a wild, distracted way, of ruin and dishonour worked by himself; +confided to me his intention to convert his whole property, at any +loss, into money, and, having settled on his wife and you a portion of +his recent acquisition, to fly the country—I guessed too well he would +not fly alone—and never see it more. Even from me, his old and early +friend, whose strong attachment had taken root in the earth that +covered one most dear to both—even from me he withheld any more +particular confession, promising to write and tell me all, and after +that to see me once again, for the last time on earth. Alas! _That_ was +the last time. I had no letter, and I never saw him more.” + +“I went,” said Mr. Brownlow, after a short pause, “I went, when all was +over, to the scene of his—I will use the term the world would freely +use, for worldly harshness or favour are now alike to him—of his guilty +love, resolved that if my fears were realised that erring child should +find one heart and home to shelter and compassionate her. The family +had left that part a week before; they had called in such trifling +debts as were outstanding, discharged them, and left the place by +night. Why, or whither, none can tell.” + +Monks drew his breath yet more freely, and looked round with a smile of +triumph. + +“When your brother,” said Mr. Brownlow, drawing nearer to the other’s +chair, “When your brother: a feeble, ragged, neglected child: was cast +in my way by a stronger hand than chance, and rescued by me from a life +of vice and infamy—” + +“What?” cried Monks. + +“By me,” said Mr. Brownlow. “I told you I should interest you before +long. I say by me—I see that your cunning associate suppressed my name, +although for aught he knew, it would be quite strange to your ears. +When he was rescued by me, then, and lay recovering from sickness in my +house, his strong resemblance to this picture I have spoken of, struck +me with astonishment. Even when I first saw him in all his dirt and +misery, there was a lingering expression in his face that came upon me +like a glimpse of some old friend flashing on one in a vivid dream. I +need not tell you he was snared away before I knew his history—” + +“Why not?” asked Monks hastily. + +“Because you know it well.” + +“I!” + +“Denial to me is vain,” replied Mr. Brownlow. “I shall show you that I +know more than that.” + +“You—you—can’t prove anything against me,” stammered Monks. “I defy you +to do it!” + +“We shall see,” returned the old gentleman with a searching glance. “I +lost the boy, and no efforts of mine could recover him. Your mother +being dead, I knew that you alone could solve the mystery if anybody +could, and as when I had last heard of you you were on your own estate +in the West Indies—whither, as you well know, you retired upon your +mother’s death to escape the consequences of vicious courses here—I +made the voyage. You had left it, months before, and were supposed to +be in London, but no one could tell where. I returned. Your agents had +no clue to your residence. You came and went, they said, as strangely +as you had ever done: sometimes for days together and sometimes not for +months: keeping to all appearance the same low haunts and mingling with +the same infamous herd who had been your associates when a fierce +ungovernable boy. I wearied them with new applications. I paced the +streets by night and day, but until two hours ago, all my efforts were +fruitless, and I never saw you for an instant.” + +“And now you do see me,” said Monks, rising boldly, “what then? Fraud +and robbery are high-sounding words—justified, you think, by a fancied +resemblance in some young imp to an idle daub of a dead man’s Brother! +You don’t even know that a child was born of this maudlin pair; you +don’t even know that.” + +“I _did not_,” replied Mr. Brownlow, rising too; “but within the last +fortnight I have learnt it all. You have a brother; you know it, and +him. There was a will, which your mother destroyed, leaving the secret +and the gain to you at her own death. It contained a reference to some +child likely to be the result of this sad connection, which child was +born, and accidentally encountered by you, when your suspicions were +first awakened by his resemblance to your father. You repaired to the +place of his birth. There existed proofs—proofs long suppressed—of his +birth and parentage. Those proofs were destroyed by you, and now, in +your own words to your accomplice the Jew, ‘_the only proofs of the +boy’s identity lie at the bottom of the river, and the old hag that +received them from the mother is rotting in her coffin_.’ Unworthy son, +coward, liar,—you, who hold your councils with thieves and murderers in +dark rooms at night,—you, whose plots and wiles have brought a violent +death upon the head of one worth millions such as you,—you, who from +your cradle were gall and bitterness to your own father’s heart, and in +whom all evil passions, vice, and profligacy, festered, till they found +a vent in a hideous disease which had made your face an index even to +your mind—you, Edward Leeford, do you still brave me!” + +“No, no, no!” returned the coward, overwhelmed by these accumulated +charges. + +“Every word!” cried the gentleman, “every word that has passed between +you and this detested villain, is known to me. Shadows on the wall have +caught your whispers, and brought them to my ear; the sight of the +persecuted child has turned vice itself, and given it the courage and +almost the attributes of virtue. Murder has been done, to which you +were morally if not really a party.” + +“No, no,” interposed Monks. “I—I knew nothing of that; I was going to +inquire the truth of the story when you overtook me. I didn’t know the +cause. I thought it was a common quarrel.” + +“It was the partial disclosure of your secrets,” replied Mr. Brownlow. +“Will you disclose the whole?” + +“Yes, I will.” + +“Set your hand to a statement of truth and facts, and repeat it before +witnesses?” + +“That I promise too.” + +“Remain quietly here, until such a document is drawn up, and proceed +with me to such a place as I may deem most advisable, for the purpose +of attesting it?” + +“If you insist upon that, I’ll do that also,” replied Monks. + +“You must do more than that,” said Mr. Brownlow. “Make restitution to +an innocent and unoffending child, for such he is, although the +offspring of a guilty and most miserable love. You have not forgotten +the provisions of the will. Carry them into execution so far as your +brother is concerned, and then go where you please. In this world you +need meet no more.” + +While Monks was pacing up and down, meditating with dark and evil looks +on this proposal and the possibilities of evading it: torn by his fears +on the one hand and his hatred on the other: the door was hurriedly +unlocked, and a gentleman (Mr. Losberne) entered the room in violent +agitation. + +“The man will be taken,” he cried. “He will be taken tonight!” + +“The murderer?” asked Mr. Brownlow. + +“Yes, yes,” replied the other. “His dog has been seen lurking about +some old haunt, and there seems little doubt that his master either is, +or will be, there, under cover of the darkness. Spies are hovering +about in every direction. I have spoken to the men who are charged with +his capture, and they tell me he cannot escape. A reward of a hundred +pounds is proclaimed by Government tonight.” + +“I will give fifty more,” said Mr. Brownlow, “and proclaim it with my +own lips upon the spot, if I can reach it. Where is Mr. Maylie?” + +“Harry? As soon as he had seen your friend here, safe in a coach with +you, he hurried off to where he heard this,” replied the doctor, “and +mounting his horse sallied forth to join the first party at some place +in the outskirts agreed upon between them.” + +“Fagin,” said Mr. Brownlow; “what of him?” + +“When I last heard, he had not been taken, but he will be, or is, by +this time. They’re sure of him.” + +“Have you made up your mind?” asked Mr. Brownlow, in a low voice, of +Monks. + +“Yes,” he replied. “You—you—will be secret with me?” + +“I will. Remain here till I return. It is your only hope of safety.” + +They left the room, and the door was again locked. + +“What have you done?” asked the doctor in a whisper. + +“All that I could hope to do, and even more. Coupling the poor girl’s +intelligence with my previous knowledge, and the result of our good +friend’s inquiries on the spot, I left him no loophole of escape, and +laid bare the whole villainy which by these lights became plain as day. +Write and appoint the evening after tomorrow, at seven, for the +meeting. We shall be down there, a few hours before, but shall require +rest: especially the young lady, who _may_ have greater need of +firmness than either you or I can quite foresee just now. But my blood +boils to avenge this poor murdered creature. Which way have they +taken?” + +“Drive straight to the office and you will be in time,” replied Mr. +Losberne. “I will remain here.” + +The two gentlemen hastily separated; each in a fever of excitement +wholly uncontrollable. + + + + + CHAPTER L. +THE PURSUIT AND ESCAPE + + +Near to that part of the Thames on which the church at Rotherhithe +abuts, where the buildings on the banks are dirtiest and the vessels on +the river blackest with the dust of colliers and the smoke of +close-built low-roofed houses, there exists the filthiest, the +strangest, the most extraordinary of the many localities that are +hidden in London, wholly unknown, even by name, to the great mass of +its inhabitants. + +To reach this place, the visitor has to penetrate through a maze of +close, narrow, and muddy streets, thronged by the roughest and poorest +of waterside people, and devoted to the traffic they may be supposed to +occasion. The cheapest and least delicate provisions are heaped in the +shops; the coarsest and commonest articles of wearing apparel dangle at +the salesman’s door, and stream from the house-parapet and windows. +Jostling with unemployed labourers of the lowest class, +ballast-heavers, coal-whippers, brazen women, ragged children, and the +raff and refuse of the river, he makes his way with difficulty along, +assailed by offensive sights and smells from the narrow alleys which +branch off on the right and left, and deafened by the clash of +ponderous waggons that bear great piles of merchandise from the stacks +of warehouses that rise from every corner. Arriving, at length, in +streets remoter and less-frequented than those through which he has +passed, he walks beneath tottering house-fronts projecting over the +pavement, dismantled walls that seem to totter as he passes, chimneys +half crushed half hesitating to fall, windows guarded by rusty iron +bars that time and dirt have almost eaten away, every imaginable sign +of desolation and neglect. + +In such a neighborhood, beyond Dockhead in the Borough of Southwark, +stands Jacob’s Island, surrounded by a muddy ditch, six or eight feet +deep and fifteen or twenty wide when the tide is in, once called Mill +Pond, but known in the days of this story as Folly Ditch. It is a creek +or inlet from the Thames, and can always be filled at high water by +opening the sluices at the Lead Mills from which it took its old name. +At such times, a stranger, looking from one of the wooden bridges +thrown across it at Mill Lane, will see the inhabitants of the houses +on either side lowering from their back doors and windows, buckets, +pails, domestic utensils of all kinds, in which to haul the water up; +and when his eye is turned from these operations to the houses +themselves, his utmost astonishment will be excited by the scene before +him. Crazy wooden galleries common to the backs of half a dozen houses, +with holes from which to look upon the slime beneath; windows, broken +and patched, with poles thrust out, on which to dry the linen that is +never there; rooms so small, so filthy, so confined, that the air would +seem too tainted even for the dirt and squalor which they shelter; +wooden chambers thrusting themselves out above the mud, and threatening +to fall into it—as some have done; dirt-besmeared walls and decaying +foundations; every repulsive lineament of poverty, every loathsome +indication of filth, rot, and garbage; all these ornament the banks of +Folly Ditch. + +In Jacob’s Island, the warehouses are roofless and empty; the walls are +crumbling down; the windows are windows no more; the doors are falling +into the streets; the chimneys are blackened, but they yield no smoke. +Thirty or forty years ago, before losses and chancery suits came upon +it, it was a thriving place; but now it is a desolate island indeed. +The houses have no owners; they are broken open, and entered upon by +those who have the courage; and there they live, and there they die. +They must have powerful motives for a secret residence, or be reduced +to a destitute condition indeed, who seek a refuge in Jacob’s Island. + +In an upper room of one of these houses—a detached house of fair size, +ruinous in other respects, but strongly defended at door and window: of +which house the back commanded the ditch in manner already +described—there were assembled three men, who, regarding each other +every now and then with looks expressive of perplexity and expectation, +sat for some time in profound and gloomy silence. One of these was Toby +Crackit, another Mr. Chitling, and the third a robber of fifty years, +whose nose had been almost beaten in, in some old scuffle, and whose +face bore a frightful scar which might probably be traced to the same +occasion. This man was a returned transport, and his name was Kags. + +“I wish,” said Toby turning to Mr. Chitling, “that you had picked out +some other crib when the two old ones got too warm, and had not come +here, my fine feller.” + +“Why didn’t you, blunder-head!” said Kags. + +“Well, I thought you’d have been a little more glad to see me than +this,” replied Mr. Chitling, with a melancholy air. + +“Why, look’e, young gentleman,” said Toby, “when a man keeps himself so +very ex-clusive as I have done, and by that means has a snug house over +his head with nobody a prying and smelling about it, it’s rather a +startling thing to have the honour of a wisit from a young gentleman +(however respectable and pleasant a person he may be to play cards with +at conweniency) circumstanced as you are.” + +“Especially, when the exclusive young man has got a friend stopping +with him, that’s arrived sooner than was expected from foreign parts, +and is too modest to want to be presented to the Judges on his return,” +added Mr. Kags. + +There was a short silence, after which Toby Crackit, seeming to abandon +as hopeless any further effort to maintain his usual devil-may-care +swagger, turned to Chitling and said, + +“When was Fagin took then?” + +“Just at dinner-time—two o’clock this afternoon. Charley and I made our +lucky up the wash-us chimney, and Bolter got into the empty water-butt, +head downwards; but his legs were so precious long that they stuck out +at the top, and so they took him too.” + +“And Bet?” + +“Poor Bet! She went to see the Body, to speak to who it was,” replied +Chitling, his countenance falling more and more, “and went off mad, +screaming and raving, and beating her head against the boards; so they +put a strait-weskut on her and took her to the hospital—and there she +is.” + +“Wot’s come of young Bates?” demanded Kags. + +“He hung about, not to come over here afore dark, but he’ll be here +soon,” replied Chitling. “There’s nowhere else to go to now, for the +people at the Cripples are all in custody, and the bar of the ken—I +went up there and see it with my own eyes—is filled with traps.” + +“This is a smash,” observed Toby, biting his lips. “There’s more than +one will go with this.” + +“The sessions are on,” said Kags: “if they get the inquest over, and +Bolter turns King’s evidence: as of course he will, from what he’s said +already: they can prove Fagin an accessory before the fact, and get the +trial on on Friday, and he’ll swing in six days from this, by G—!” + +“You should have heard the people groan,” said Chitling; “the officers +fought like devils, or they’d have torn him away. He was down once, but +they made a ring round him, and fought their way along. You should have +seen how he looked about him, all muddy and bleeding, and clung to them +as if they were his dearest friends. I can see ’em now, not able to +stand upright with the pressing of the mob, and draggin him along +amongst ’em; I can see the people jumping up, one behind another, and +snarling with their teeth and making at him; I can see the blood upon +his hair and beard, and hear the cries with which the women worked +themselves into the centre of the crowd at the street corner, and swore +they’d tear his heart out!” + +The horror-stricken witness of this scene pressed his hands upon his +ears, and with his eyes closed got up and paced violently to and fro, +like one distracted. + +While he was thus engaged, and the two men sat by in silence with their +eyes fixed upon the floor, a pattering noise was heard upon the stairs, +and Sikes’s dog bounded into the room. They ran to the window, +downstairs, and into the street. The dog had jumped in at an open +window; he made no attempt to follow them, nor was his master to be +seen. + +“What’s the meaning of this?” said Toby when they had returned. “He +can’t be coming here. I—I—hope not.” + +“If he was coming here, he’d have come with the dog,” said Kags, +stooping down to examine the animal, who lay panting on the floor. +“Here! Give us some water for him; he has run himself faint.” + +“He’s drunk it all up, every drop,” said Chitling after watching the +dog some time in silence. “Covered with mud—lame—half blind—he must +have come a long way.” + +“Where can he have come from!” exclaimed Toby. “He’s been to the other +kens of course, and finding them filled with strangers come on here, +where he’s been many a time and often. But where can he have come from +first, and how comes he here alone without the other!” + +“He”—(none of them called the murderer by his old name)—“He can’t have +made away with himself. What do you think?” said Chitling. + +Toby shook his head. + +“If he had,” said Kags, “the dog ’ud want to lead us away to where he +did it. No. I think he’s got out of the country, and left the dog +behind. He must have given him the slip somehow, or he wouldn’t be so +easy.” + +This solution, appearing the most probable one, was adopted as the +right; the dog, creeping under a chair, coiled himself up to sleep, +without more notice from anybody. + +It being now dark, the shutter was closed, and a candle lighted and +placed upon the table. The terrible events of the last two days had +made a deep impression on all three, increased by the danger and +uncertainty of their own position. They drew their chairs closer +together, starting at every sound. They spoke little, and that in +whispers, and were as silent and awe-stricken as if the remains of the +murdered woman lay in the next room. + +They had sat thus, some time, when suddenly was heard a hurried +knocking at the door below. + +“Young Bates,” said Kags, looking angrily round, to check the fear he +felt himself. + +The knocking came again. No, it wasn’t he. He never knocked like that. + +Crackit went to the window, and shaking all over, drew in his head. +There was no need to tell them who it was; his pale face was enough. +The dog too was on the alert in an instant, and ran whining to the +door. + +“We must let him in,” he said, taking up the candle. + +“Isn’t there any help for it?” asked the other man in a hoarse voice. + +“None. He _must_ come in.” + +“Don’t leave us in the dark,” said Kags, taking down a candle from the +chimney-piece, and lighting it, with such a trembling hand that the +knocking was twice repeated before he had finished. + +Crackit went down to the door, and returned followed by a man with the +lower part of his face buried in a handkerchief, and another tied over +his head under his hat. He drew them slowly off. Blanched face, sunken +eyes, hollow cheeks, beard of three days’ growth, wasted flesh, short +thick breath; it was the very ghost of Sikes. + +He laid his hand upon a chair which stood in the middle of the room, +but shuddering as he was about to drop into it, and seeming to glance +over his shoulder, dragged it back close to the wall—as close as it +would go—and ground it against it—and sat down. + +Not a word had been exchanged. He looked from one to another in +silence. If an eye were furtively raised and met his, it was instantly +averted. When his hollow voice broke silence, they all three started. +They seemed never to have heard its tones before. + +“How came that dog here?” he asked. + +“Alone. Three hours ago.” + +“Tonight’s paper says that Fagin’s took. Is it true, or a lie?” + +“True.” + +They were silent again. + +“Damn you all!” said Sikes, passing his hand across his forehead. “Have +you nothing to say to me?” + +There was an uneasy movement among them, but nobody spoke. + +“You that keep this house,” said Sikes, turning his face to Crackit, +“do you mean to sell me, or to let me lie here till this hunt is over?” + +“You may stop here, if you think it safe,” returned the person +addressed, after some hesitation. + +Sikes carried his eyes slowly up the wall behind him: rather trying to +turn his head than actually doing it: and said, “Is—it—the body—is it +buried?” + +They shook their heads. + +“Why isn’t it!” he retorted with the same glance behind him. “Wot do +they keep such ugly things above the ground for?—Who’s that knocking?” + +Crackit intimated, by a motion of his hand as he left the room, that +there was nothing to fear; and directly came back with Charley Bates +behind him. Sikes sat opposite the door, so that the moment the boy +entered the room he encountered his figure. + +“Toby,” said the boy falling back, as Sikes turned his eyes towards +him, “why didn’t you tell me this, downstairs?” + +There had been something so tremendous in the shrinking off of the +three, that the wretched man was willing to propitiate even this lad. +Accordingly he nodded, and made as though he would shake hands with +him. + +“Let me go into some other room,” said the boy, retreating still +farther. + +“Charley!” said Sikes, stepping forward. “Don’t you—don’t you know me?” + +“Don’t come nearer me,” answered the boy, still retreating, and +looking, with horror in his eyes, upon the murderer’s face. “You +monster!” + +The man stopped half-way, and they looked at each other; but Sikes’s +eyes sunk gradually to the ground. + +“Witness you three,” cried the boy shaking his clenched fist, and +becoming more and more excited as he spoke. “Witness you three—I’m not +afraid of him—if they come here after him, I’ll give him up; I will. I +tell you out at once. He may kill me for it if he likes, or if he +dares, but if I am here I’ll give him up. I’d give him up if he was to +be boiled alive. Murder! Help! If there’s the pluck of a man among you +three, you’ll help me. Murder! Help! Down with him!” + +Pouring out these cries, and accompanying them with violent +gesticulation, the boy actually threw himself, single-handed, upon the +strong man, and in the intensity of his energy and the suddenness of +his surprise, brought him heavily to the ground. + +The three spectators seemed quite stupefied. They offered no +interference, and the boy and man rolled on the ground together; the +former, heedless of the blows that showered upon him, wrenching his +hands tighter and tighter in the garments about the murderer’s breast, +and never ceasing to call for help with all his might. + +The contest, however, was too unequal to last long. Sikes had him down, +and his knee was on his throat, when Crackit pulled him back with a +look of alarm, and pointed to the window. There were lights gleaming +below, voices in loud and earnest conversation, the tramp of hurried +footsteps—endless they seemed in number—crossing the nearest wooden +bridge. One man on horseback seemed to be among the crowd; for there +was the noise of hoofs rattling on the uneven pavement. The gleam of +lights increased; the footsteps came more thickly and noisily on. Then, +came a loud knocking at the door, and then a hoarse murmur from such a +multitude of angry voices as would have made the boldest quail. + +“Help!” shrieked the boy in a voice that rent the air. “He’s here! +Break down the door!” + +“In the King’s name,” cried the voices without; and the hoarse cry +arose again, but louder. + +“Break down the door!” screamed the boy. “I tell you they’ll never open +it. Run straight to the room where the light is. Break down the door!” + +Strokes, thick and heavy, rattled upon the door and lower +window-shutters as he ceased to speak, and a loud huzzah burst from the +crowd; giving the listener, for the first time, some adequate idea of +its immense extent. + +“Open the door of some place where I can lock this screeching +Hell-babe,” cried Sikes fiercely; running to and fro, and dragging the +boy, now, as easily as if he were an empty sack. “That door. Quick!” He +flung him in, bolted it, and turned the key. “Is the downstairs door +fast?” + +“Double-locked and chained,” replied Crackit, who, with the other two +men, still remained quite helpless and bewildered. + +“The panels—are they strong?” + +“Lined with sheet-iron.” + +“And the windows too?” + +“Yes, and the windows.” + +“Damn you!” cried the desperate ruffian, throwing up the sash and +menacing the crowd. “Do your worst! I’ll cheat you yet!” + +Of all the terrific yells that ever fell on mortal ears, none could +exceed the cry of the infuriated throng. Some shouted to those who were +nearest to set the house on fire; others roared to the officers to +shoot him dead. Among them all, none showed such fury as the man on +horseback, who, throwing himself out of the saddle, and bursting +through the crowd as if he were parting water, cried, beneath the +window, in a voice that rose above all others, “Twenty guineas to the +man who brings a ladder!” + +The nearest voices took up the cry, and hundreds echoed it. Some called +for ladders, some for sledge-hammers; some ran with torches to and fro +as if to seek them, and still came back and roared again; some spent +their breath in impotent curses and execrations; some pressed forward +with the ecstasy of madmen, and thus impeded the progress of those +below; some among the boldest attempted to climb up by the water-spout +and crevices in the wall; and all waved to and fro, in the darkness +beneath, like a field of corn moved by an angry wind: and joined from +time to time in one loud furious roar. + +“The tide,” cried the murderer, as he staggered back into the room, and +shut the faces out, “the tide was in as I came up. Give me a rope, a +long rope. They’re all in front. I may drop into the Folly Ditch, and +clear off that way. Give me a rope, or I shall do three more murders +and kill myself.” + +The panic-stricken men pointed to where such articles were kept; the +murderer, hastily selecting the longest and strongest cord, hurried up +to the house-top. + +All the windows in the rear of the house had been long ago bricked up, +except one small trap in the room where the boy was locked, and that +was too small even for the passage of his body. But, from this +aperture, he had never ceased to call on those without, to guard the +back; and thus, when the murderer emerged at last on the house-top by +the door in the roof, a loud shout proclaimed the fact to those in +front, who immediately began to pour round, pressing upon each other in +an unbroken stream. + +He planted a board, which he had carried up with him for the purpose, +so firmly against the door that it must be matter of great difficulty +to open it from the inside; and creeping over the tiles, looked over +the low parapet. + +The water was out, and the ditch a bed of mud. + +The crowd had been hushed during these few moments, watching his +motions and doubtful of his purpose, but the instant they perceived it +and knew it was defeated, they raised a cry of triumphant execration to +which all their previous shouting had been whispers. Again and again it +rose. Those who were at too great a distance to know its meaning, took +up the sound; it echoed and re-echoed; it seemed as though the whole +city had poured its population out to curse him. + +On pressed the people from the front—on, on, on, in a strong struggling +current of angry faces, with here and there a glaring torch to lighten +them up, and show them out in all their wrath and passion. The houses +on the opposite side of the ditch had been entered by the mob; sashes +were thrown up, or torn bodily out; there were tiers and tiers of faces +in every window; cluster upon cluster of people clinging to every +house-top. Each little bridge (and there were three in sight) bent +beneath the weight of the crowd upon it. Still the current poured on to +find some nook or hole from which to vent their shouts, and only for an +instant see the wretch. + +“They have him now,” cried a man on the nearest bridge. “Hurrah!” + +The crowd grew light with uncovered heads; and again the shout uprose. + +“I will give fifty pounds,” cried an old gentleman from the same +quarter, “to the man who takes him alive. I will remain here, till he +come to ask me for it.” + +There was another roar. At this moment the word was passed among the +crowd that the door was forced at last, and that he who had first +called for the ladder had mounted into the room. The stream abruptly +turned, as this intelligence ran from mouth to mouth; and the people at +the windows, seeing those upon the bridges pouring back, quitted their +stations, and running into the street, joined the concourse that now +thronged pell-mell to the spot they had left: each man crushing and +striving with his neighbor, and all panting with impatience to get near +the door, and look upon the criminal as the officers brought him out. +The cries and shrieks of those who were pressed almost to suffocation, +or trampled down and trodden under foot in the confusion, were +dreadful; the narrow ways were completely blocked up; and at this time, +between the rush of some to regain the space in front of the house, and +the unavailing struggles of others to extricate themselves from the +mass, the immediate attention was distracted from the murderer, +although the universal eagerness for his capture was, if possible, +increased. + +The man had shrunk down, thoroughly quelled by the ferocity of the +crowd, and the impossibility of escape; but seeing this sudden change +with no less rapidity than it had occurred, he sprang upon his feet, +determined to make one last effort for his life by dropping into the +ditch, and, at the risk of being stifled, endeavouring to creep away in +the darkness and confusion. + +Roused into new strength and energy, and stimulated by the noise within +the house which announced that an entrance had really been effected, he +set his foot against the stack of chimneys, fastened one end of the +rope tightly and firmly round it, and with the other made a strong +running noose by the aid of his hands and teeth almost in a second. He +could let himself down by the cord to within a less distance of the +ground than his own height, and had his knife ready in his hand to cut +it then and drop. + +At the very instant when he brought the loop over his head previous to +slipping it beneath his arm-pits, and when the old gentleman +before-mentioned (who had clung so tight to the railing of the bridge +as to resist the force of the crowd, and retain his position) earnestly +warned those about him that the man was about to lower himself down—at +that very instant the murderer, looking behind him on the roof, threw +his arms above his head, and uttered a yell of terror. + +“The eyes again!” he cried in an unearthly screech. + +Staggering as if struck by lightning, he lost his balance and tumbled +over the parapet. The noose was on his neck. It ran up with his weight, +tight as a bow-string, and swift as the arrow it speeds. He fell for +five-and-thirty feet. There was a sudden jerk, a terrific convulsion of +the limbs; and there he hung, with the open knife clenched in his +stiffening hand. + +The old chimney quivered with the shock, but stood it bravely. The +murderer swung lifeless against the wall; and the boy, thrusting aside +the dangling body which obscured his view, called to the people to come +and take him out, for God’s sake. + +A dog, which had lain concealed till now, ran backwards and forwards on +the parapet with a dismal howl, and collecting himself for a spring, +jumped for the dead man’s shoulders. Missing his aim, he fell into the +ditch, turning completely over as he went; and striking his head +against a stone, dashed out his brains. + + + + + CHAPTER LI. +AFFORDING AN EXPLANATION OF MORE MYSTERIES THAN ONE, AND COMPREHENDING +A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE WITH NO WORD OF SETTLEMENT OR PIN-MONEY + + +The events narrated in the last chapter were yet but two days old, when +Oliver found himself, at three o’clock in the afternoon, in a +travelling-carriage rolling fast towards his native town. Mrs. Maylie, +and Rose, and Mrs. Bedwin, and the good doctor were with him: and Mr. +Brownlow followed in a post-chaise, accompanied by one other person +whose name had not been mentioned. + +They had not talked much upon the way; for Oliver was in a flutter of +agitation and uncertainty which deprived him of the power of collecting +his thoughts, and almost of speech, and appeared to have scarcely less +effect on his companions, who shared it, in at least an equal degree. +He and the two ladies had been very carefully made acquainted by Mr. +Brownlow with the nature of the admissions which had been forced from +Monks; and although they knew that the object of their present journey +was to complete the work which had been so well begun, still the whole +matter was enveloped in enough of doubt and mystery to leave them in +endurance of the most intense suspense. + +The same kind friend had, with Mr. Losberne’s assistance, cautiously +stopped all channels of communication through which they could receive +intelligence of the dreadful occurrences that had so recently taken +place. “It was quite true,” he said, “that they must know them before +long, but it might be at a better time than the present, and it could +not be at a worse.” So, they travelled on in silence: each busied with +reflections on the object which had brought them together: and no one +disposed to give utterance to the thoughts which crowded upon all. + +But if Oliver, under these influences, had remained silent while they +journeyed towards his birth-place by a road he had never seen, how the +whole current of his recollections ran back to old times, and what a +crowd of emotions were wakened up in his breast, when they turned into +that which he had traversed on foot: a poor houseless, wandering boy, +without a friend to help him, or a roof to shelter his head. + +“See there, there!” cried Oliver, eagerly clasping the hand of Rose, +and pointing out at the carriage window; “that’s the stile I came over; +there are the hedges I crept behind, for fear any one should overtake +me and force me back! Yonder is the path across the fields, leading to +the old house where I was a little child! Oh Dick, Dick, my dear old +friend, if I could only see you now!” + +“You will see him soon,” replied Rose, gently taking his folded hands +between her own. “You shall tell him how happy you are, and how rich +you have grown, and that in all your happiness you have none so great +as the coming back to make him happy too.” + +“Yes, yes,” said Oliver, “and we’ll—we’ll take him away from here, and +have him clothed and taught, and send him to some quiet country place +where he may grow strong and well,—shall we?” + +Rose nodded “yes,” for the boy was smiling through such happy tears +that she could not speak. + +“You will be kind and good to him, for you are to every one,” said +Oliver. “It will make you cry, I know, to hear what he can tell; but +never mind, never mind, it will be all over, and you will smile again—I +know that too—to think how changed he is; you did the same with me. He +said ‘God bless you’ to me when I ran away,” cried the boy with a burst +of affectionate emotion; “and I will say ‘God bless you’ now, and show +him how I love him for it!” + +As they approached the town, and at length drove through its narrow +streets, it became matter of no small difficulty to restrain the boy +within reasonable bounds. There was Sowerberry’s the undertaker’s just +as it used to be, only smaller and less imposing in appearance than he +remembered it—there were all the well-known shops and houses, with +almost every one of which he had some slight incident connected—there +was Gamfield’s cart, the very cart he used to have, standing at the old +public-house door—there was the workhouse, the dreary prison of his +youthful days, with its dismal windows frowning on the street—there was +the same lean porter standing at the gate, at sight of whom Oliver +involuntarily shrunk back, and then laughed at himself for being so +foolish, then cried, then laughed again—there were scores of faces at +the doors and windows that he knew quite well—there was nearly +everything as if he had left it but yesterday, and all his recent life +had been but a happy dream. + +But it was pure, earnest, joyful reality. They drove straight to the +door of the chief hotel (which Oliver used to stare up at, with awe, +and think a mighty palace, but which had somehow fallen off in grandeur +and size); and here was Mr. Grimwig all ready to receive them, kissing +the young lady, and the old one too, when they got out of the coach, as +if he were the grandfather of the whole party, all smiles and kindness, +and not offering to eat his head—no, not once; not even when he +contradicted a very old postboy about the nearest road to London, and +maintained he knew it best, though he had only come that way once, and +that time fast asleep. There was dinner prepared, and there were +bedrooms ready, and everything was arranged as if by magic. + +Notwithstanding all this, when the hurry of the first half-hour was +over, the same silence and constraint prevailed that had marked their +journey down. Mr. Brownlow did not join them at dinner, but remained in +a separate room. The two other gentlemen hurried in and out with +anxious faces, and, during the short intervals when they were present, +conversed apart. Once, Mrs. Maylie was called away, and after being +absent for nearly an hour, returned with eyes swollen with weeping. All +these things made Rose and Oliver, who were not in any new secrets, +nervous and uncomfortable. They sat wondering, in silence; or, if they +exchanged a few words, spoke in whispers, as if they were afraid to +hear the sound of their own voices. + +At length, when nine o’clock had come, and they began to think they +were to hear no more that night, Mr. Losberne and Mr. Grimwig entered +the room, followed by Mr. Brownlow and a man whom Oliver almost +shrieked with surprise to see; for they told him it was his brother, +and it was the same man he had met at the market-town, and seen looking +in with Fagin at the window of his little room. Monks cast a look of +hate, which, even then, he could not dissemble, at the astonished boy, +and sat down near the door. Mr. Brownlow, who had papers in his hand, +walked to a table near which Rose and Oliver were seated. + +“This is a painful task,” said he, “but these declarations, which have +been signed in London before many gentlemen, must be in substance +repeated here. I would have spared you the degradation, but we must +hear them from your own lips before we part, and you know why.” + +“Go on,” said the person addressed, turning away his face. “Quick. I +have almost done enough, I think. Don’t keep me here.” + +“This child,” said Mr. Brownlow, drawing Oliver to him, and laying his +hand upon his head, “is your half-brother; the illegitimate son of your +father, my dear friend Edwin Leeford, by poor young Agnes Fleming, who +died in giving him birth.” + +“Yes,” said Monks, scowling at the trembling boy: the beating of whose +heart he might have heard. “That is the bastard child.” + +“The term you use,” said Mr. Brownlow, sternly, “is a reproach to those +long since passed beyond the feeble censure of the world. It reflects +disgrace on no one living, except you who use it. Let that pass. He was +born in this town.” + +“In the workhouse of this town,” was the sullen reply. “You have the +story there.” He pointed impatiently to the papers as he spoke. + +“I must have it here, too,” said Mr. Brownlow, looking round upon the +listeners. + +“Listen then! You!” returned Monks. “His father being taken ill at +Rome, was joined by his wife, my mother, from whom he had been long +separated, who went from Paris and took me with her—to look after his +property, for what I know, for she had no great affection for him, nor +he for her. He knew nothing of us, for his senses were gone, and he +slumbered on till next day, when he died. Among the papers in his desk, +were two, dated on the night his illness first came on, directed to +yourself”; he addressed himself to Mr. Brownlow; “and enclosed in a few +short lines to you, with an intimation on the cover of the package that +it was not to be forwarded till after he was dead. One of these papers +was a letter to this girl Agnes; the other a will.” + +“What of the letter?” asked Mr. Brownlow. + +“The letter?—A sheet of paper crossed and crossed again, with a +penitent confession, and prayers to God to help her. He had palmed a +tale on the girl that some secret mystery—to be explained one +day—prevented his marrying her just then; and so she had gone on, +trusting patiently to him, until she trusted too far, and lost what +none could ever give her back. She was, at that time, within a few +months of her confinement. He told her all he had meant to do, to hide +her shame, if he had lived, and prayed her, if he died, not to curse +his memory, or think the consequences of their sin would be visited on +her or their young child; for all the guilt was his. He reminded her of +the day he had given her the little locket and the ring with her +christian name engraved upon it, and a blank left for that which he +hoped one day to have bestowed upon her—prayed her yet to keep it, and +wear it next her heart, as she had done before—and then ran on, wildly, +in the same words, over and over again, as if he had gone distracted. I +believe he had.” + +“The will,” said Mr. Brownlow, as Oliver’s tears fell fast. + +Monks was silent. + +“The will,” said Mr. Brownlow, speaking for him, “was in the same +spirit as the letter. He talked of miseries which his wife had brought +upon him; of the rebellious disposition, vice, malice, and premature +bad passions of you his only son, who had been trained to hate him; and +left you, and your mother, each an annuity of eight hundred pounds. The +bulk of his property he divided into two equal portions—one for Agnes +Fleming, and the other for their child, if it should be born alive, and +ever come of age. If it were a girl, it was to inherit the money +unconditionally; but if a boy, only on the stipulation that in his +minority he should never have stained his name with any public act of +dishonour, meanness, cowardice, or wrong. He did this, he said, to mark +his confidence in the mother, and his conviction—only strengthened by +approaching death—that the child would share her gentle heart, and +noble nature. If he were disappointed in this expectation, then the +money was to come to you: for then, and not till then, when both +children were equal, would he recognise your prior claim upon his +purse, who had none upon his heart, but had, from an infant, repulsed +him with coldness and aversion.” + +“My mother,” said Monks, in a louder tone, “did what a woman should +have done. She burnt this will. The letter never reached its +destination; but that, and other proofs, she kept, in case they ever +tried to lie away the blot. The girl’s father had the truth from her +with every aggravation that her violent hate—I love her for it +now—could add. Goaded by shame and dishonour he fled with his children +into a remote corner of Wales, changing his very name that his friends +might never know of his retreat; and here, no great while afterwards, +he was found dead in his bed. The girl had left her home, in secret, +some weeks before; he had searched for her, on foot, in every town and +village near; it was on the night when he returned home, assured that +she had destroyed herself, to hide her shame and his, that his old +heart broke.” + +There was a short silence here, until Mr. Brownlow took up the thread +of the narrative. + +“Years after this,” he said, “this man’s—Edward Leeford’s—mother came +to me. He had left her, when only eighteen; robbed her of jewels and +money; gambled, squandered, forged, and fled to London: where for two +years he had associated with the lowest outcasts. She was sinking under +a painful and incurable disease, and wished to recover him before she +died. Inquiries were set on foot, and strict searches made. They were +unavailing for a long time, but ultimately successful; and he went back +with her to France.” + +“There she died,” said Monks, “after a lingering illness; and, on her +death-bed, she bequeathed these secrets to me, together with her +unquenchable and deadly hatred of all whom they involved—though she +need not have left me that, for I had inherited it long before. She +would not believe that the girl had destroyed herself, and the child +too, but was filled with the impression that a male child had been +born, and was alive. I swore to her, if ever it crossed my path, to +hunt it down; never to let it rest; to pursue it with the bitterest and +most unrelenting animosity; to vent upon it the hatred that I deeply +felt, and to spit upon the empty vaunt of that insulting will by +dragging it, if I could, to the very gallows-foot. She was right. He +came in my way at last. I began well; and, but for babbling drabs, I +would have finished as I began!” + +As the villain folded his arms tight together, and muttered curses on +himself in the impotence of baffled malice, Mr. Brownlow turned to the +terrified group beside him, and explained that the Jew, who had been +his old accomplice and confidant, had a large reward for keeping Oliver +ensnared: of which some part was to be given up, in the event of his +being rescued: and that a dispute on this head had led to their visit +to the country house for the purpose of identifying him. + +“The locket and ring?” said Mr. Brownlow, turning to Monks. + +“I bought them from the man and woman I told you of, who stole them +from the nurse, who stole them from the corpse,” answered Monks without +raising his eyes. “You know what became of them.” + +Mr. Brownlow merely nodded to Mr. Grimwig, who disappearing with great +alacrity, shortly returned, pushing in Mrs. Bumble, and dragging her +unwilling consort after him. + +“Do my hi’s deceive me!” cried Mr. Bumble, with ill-feigned enthusiasm, +“or is that little Oliver? Oh O-li-ver, if you know’d how I’ve been +a-grieving for you—” + +“Hold your tongue, fool,” murmured Mrs. Bumble. + +“Isn’t natur, natur, Mrs. Bumble?” remonstrated the workhouse master. +“Can’t I be supposed to feel—_I_ as brought him up porochially—when I +see him a-setting here among ladies and gentlemen of the very affablest +description! I always loved that boy as if he’d been my—my—my own +grandfather,” said Mr. Bumble, halting for an appropriate comparison. +“Master Oliver, my dear, you remember the blessed gentleman in the +white waistcoat? Ah! he went to heaven last week, in a oak coffin with +plated handles, Oliver.” + +“Come, sir,” said Mr. Grimwig, tartly; “suppress your feelings.” + +“I will do my endeavours, sir,” replied Mr. Bumble. “How do you do, +sir? I hope you are very well.” + +This salutation was addressed to Mr. Brownlow, who had stepped up to +within a short distance of the respectable couple. He inquired, as he +pointed to Monks, + +“Do you know that person?” + +“No,” replied Mrs. Bumble flatly. + +“Perhaps _you_ don’t?” said Mr. Brownlow, addressing her spouse. + +“I never saw him in all my life,” said Mr. Bumble. + +“Nor sold him anything, perhaps?” + +“No,” replied Mrs. Bumble. + +“You never had, perhaps, a certain gold locket and ring?” said Mr. +Brownlow. + +“Certainly not,” replied the matron. “Why are we brought here to answer +to such nonsense as this?” + +Again Mr. Brownlow nodded to Mr. Grimwig; and again that gentleman +limped away with extraordinary readiness. But not again did he return +with a stout man and wife; for this time, he led in two palsied women, +who shook and tottered as they walked. + +“You shut the door the night old Sally died,” said the foremost one, +raising her shrivelled hand, “but you couldn’t shut out the sound, nor +stop the chinks.” + +“No, no,” said the other, looking round her and wagging her toothless +jaws. “No, no, no.” + +“We heard her try to tell you what she’d done, and saw you take a paper +from her hand, and watched you too, next day, to the pawnbroker’s +shop,” said the first. + +“Yes,” added the second, “and it was a ‘locket and gold ring.’ We found +out that, and saw it given you. We were by. Oh! we were by.” + +“And we know more than that,” resumed the first, “for she told us +often, long ago, that the young mother had told her that, feeling she +should never get over it, she was on her way, at the time that she was +taken ill, to die near the grave of the father of the child.” + +“Would you like to see the pawnbroker himself?” asked Mr. Grimwig with +a motion towards the door. + +“No,” replied the woman; “if he”—she pointed to Monks—“has been coward +enough to confess, as I see he has, and you have sounded all these hags +till you have found the right ones, I have nothing more to say. I _did_ +sell them, and they’re where you’ll never get them. What then?” + +“Nothing,” replied Mr. Brownlow, “except that it remains for us to take +care that neither of you is employed in a situation of trust again. You +may leave the room.” + +“I hope,” said Mr. Bumble, looking about him with great ruefulness, as +Mr. Grimwig disappeared with the two old women: “I hope that this +unfortunate little circumstance will not deprive me of my porochial +office?” + +“Indeed it will,” replied Mr. Brownlow. “You may make up your mind to +that, and think yourself well off besides.” + +“It was all Mrs. Bumble. She _would_ do it,” urged Mr. Bumble; first +looking round to ascertain that his partner had left the room. + +“That is no excuse,” replied Mr. Brownlow. “You were present on the +occasion of the destruction of these trinkets, and indeed are the more +guilty of the two, in the eye of the law; for the law supposes that +your wife acts under your direction.” + +“If the law supposes that,” said Mr. Bumble, squeezing his hat +emphatically in both hands, “the law is a ass—a idiot. If that’s the +eye of the law, the law is a bachelor; and the worst I wish the law is, +that his eye may be opened by experience—by experience.” + +Laying great stress on the repetition of these two words, Mr. Bumble +fixed his hat on very tight, and putting his hands in his pockets, +followed his helpmate downstairs. + +“Young lady,” said Mr. Brownlow, turning to Rose, “give me your hand. +Do not tremble. You need not fear to hear the few remaining words we +have to say.” + +“If they have—I do not know how they can, but if they have—any +reference to me,” said Rose, “pray let me hear them at some other time. +I have not strength or spirits now.” + +“Nay,” returned the old gentleman, drawing her arm through his; “you +have more fortitude than this, I am sure. Do you know this young lady, +sir?” + +“Yes,” replied Monks. + +“I never saw you before,” said Rose faintly. + +“I have seen you often,” returned Monks. + +“The father of the unhappy Agnes had _two_ daughters,” said Mr. +Brownlow. “What was the fate of the other—the child?” + +“The child,” replied Monks, “when her father died in a strange place, +in a strange name, without a letter, book, or scrap of paper that +yielded the faintest clue by which his friends or relatives could be +traced—the child was taken by some wretched cottagers, who reared it as +their own.” + +“Go on,” said Mr. Brownlow, signing to Mrs. Maylie to approach. “Go +on!” + +“You couldn’t find the spot to which these people had repaired,” said +Monks, “but where friendship fails, hatred will often force a way. My +mother found it, after a year of cunning search—ay, and found the +child.” + +“She took it, did she?” + +“No. The people were poor and began to sicken—at least the man did—of +their fine humanity; so she left it with them, giving them a small +present of money which would not last long, and promised more, which +she never meant to send. She didn’t quite rely, however, on their +discontent and poverty for the child’s unhappiness, but told the +history of the sister’s shame, with such alterations as suited her; +bade them take good heed of the child, for she came of bad blood; and +told them she was illegitimate, and sure to go wrong at one time or +other. The circumstances countenanced all this; the people believed it; +and there the child dragged on an existence, miserable enough even to +satisfy us, until a widow lady, residing, then, at Chester, saw the +girl by chance, pitied her, and took her home. There was some cursed +spell, I think, against us; for in spite of all our efforts she +remained there and was happy. I lost sight of her, two or three years +ago, and saw her no more until a few months back.” + +“Do you see her now?” + +“Yes. Leaning on your arm.” + +“But not the less my niece,” cried Mrs. Maylie, folding the fainting +girl in her arms; “not the less my dearest child. I would not lose her +now, for all the treasures of the world. My sweet companion, my own +dear girl!” + +“The only friend I ever had,” cried Rose, clinging to her. “The +kindest, best of friends. My heart will burst. I cannot bear all this.” + +“You have borne more, and have been, through all, the best and gentlest +creature that ever shed happiness on every one she knew,” said Mrs. +Maylie, embracing her tenderly. “Come, come, my love, remember who this +is who waits to clasp you in his arms, poor child! See here—look, look, +my dear!” + +“Not aunt,” cried Oliver, throwing his arms about her neck; “I’ll never +call her aunt—sister, my own dear sister, that something taught my +heart to love so dearly from the first! Rose, dear, darling Rose!” + +Let the tears which fell, and the broken words which were exchanged in +the long close embrace between the orphans, be sacred. A father, +sister, and mother, were gained, and lost, in that one moment. Joy and +grief were mingled in the cup; but there were no bitter tears: for even +grief itself arose so softened, and clothed in such sweet and tender +recollections, that it became a solemn pleasure, and lost all character +of pain. + +They were a long, long time alone. A soft tap at the door, at length +announced that some one was without. Oliver opened it, glided away, and +gave place to Harry Maylie. + +“I know it all,” he said, taking a seat beside the lovely girl. “Dear +Rose, I know it all.” + +“I am not here by accident,” he added after a lengthened silence; “nor +have I heard all this tonight, for I knew it yesterday—only yesterday. +Do you guess that I have come to remind you of a promise?” + +“Stay,” said Rose. “You _do_ know all.” + +“All. You gave me leave, at any time within a year, to renew the +subject of our last discourse.” + +“I did.” + +“Not to press you to alter your determination,” pursued the young man, +“but to hear you repeat it, if you would. I was to lay whatever of +station or fortune I might possess at your feet, and if you still +adhered to your former determination, I pledged myself, by no word or +act, to seek to change it.” + +“The same reasons which influenced me then, will influence me now,” +said Rose firmly. “If I ever owed a strict and rigid duty to her, whose +goodness saved me from a life of indigence and suffering, when should I +ever feel it, as I should tonight? It is a struggle,” said Rose, “but +one I am proud to make; it is a pang, but one my heart shall bear.” + +“The disclosure of tonight,”—Harry began. + +“The disclosure of tonight,” replied Rose softly, “leaves me in the +same position, with reference to you, as that in which I stood before.” + +“You harden your heart against me, Rose,” urged her lover. + +“Oh Harry, Harry,” said the young lady, bursting into tears; “I wish I +could, and spare myself this pain.” + +“Then why inflict it on yourself?” said Harry, taking her hand. “Think, +dear Rose, think what you have heard tonight.” + +“And what have I heard! What have I heard!” cried Rose. “That a sense +of his deep disgrace so worked upon my own father that he shunned +all—there, we have said enough, Harry, we have said enough.” + +“Not yet, not yet,” said the young man, detaining her as she rose. “My +hopes, my wishes, prospects, feeling: every thought in life except my +love for you: have undergone a change. I offer you, now, no distinction +among a bustling crowd; no mingling with a world of malice and +detraction, where the blood is called into honest cheeks by aught but +real disgrace and shame; but a home—a heart and home—yes, dearest Rose, +and those, and those alone, are all I have to offer.” + +“What do you mean!” she faltered. + +“I mean but this—that when I left you last, I left you with a firm +determination to level all fancied barriers between yourself and me; +resolved that if my world could not be yours, I would make yours mine; +that no pride of birth should curl the lip at you, for I would turn +from it. This I have done. Those who have shrunk from me because of +this, have shrunk from you, and proved you so far right. Such power and +patronage: such relatives of influence and rank: as smiled upon me +then, look coldly now; but there are smiling fields and waving trees in +England’s richest county; and by one village church—mine, Rose, my +own!—there stands a rustic dwelling which you can make me prouder of, +than all the hopes I have renounced, measured a thousandfold. This is +my rank and station now, and here I lay it down!” + + +“It’s a trying thing waiting supper for lovers,” said Mr. Grimwig, +waking up, and pulling his pocket-handkerchief from over his head. + +Truth to tell, the supper had been waiting a most unreasonable time. +Neither Mrs. Maylie, nor Harry, nor Rose (who all came in together), +could offer a word in extenuation. + +“I had serious thoughts of eating my head tonight,” said Mr. Grimwig, +“for I began to think I should get nothing else. I’ll take the liberty, +if you’ll allow me, of saluting the bride that is to be.” + +Mr. Grimwig lost no time in carrying this notice into effect upon the +blushing girl; and the example, being contagious, was followed both by +the doctor and Mr. Brownlow: some people affirm that Harry Maylie had +been observed to set it, originally, in a dark room adjoining; but the +best authorities consider this downright scandal: he being young and a +clergyman. + +“Oliver, my child,” said Mrs. Maylie, “where have you been, and why do +you look so sad? There are tears stealing down your face at this +moment. What is the matter?” + +It is a world of disappointment: often to the hopes we most cherish, +and hopes that do our nature the greatest honour. + +Poor Dick was dead! + + + + + CHAPTER LII. +FAGIN’S LAST NIGHT ALIVE + + +The court was paved, from floor to roof, with human faces. Inquisitive +and eager eyes peered from every inch of space. From the rail before +the dock, away into the sharpest angle of the smallest corner in the +galleries, all looks were fixed upon one man—Fagin. Before him and +behind: above, below, on the right and on the left: he seemed to stand +surrounded by a firmament, all bright with gleaming eyes. + +He stood there, in all this glare of living light, with one hand +resting on the wooden slab before him, the other held to his ear, and +his head thrust forward to enable him to catch with greater +distinctness every word that fell from the presiding judge, who was +delivering his charge to the jury. At times, he turned his eyes sharply +upon them to observe the effect of the slightest featherweight in his +favour; and when the points against him were stated with terrible +distinctness, looked towards his counsel, in mute appeal that he would, +even then, urge something in his behalf. Beyond these manifestations of +anxiety, he stirred not hand or foot. He had scarcely moved since the +trial began; and now that the judge ceased to speak, he still remained +in the same strained attitude of close attention, with his gaze bent on +him, as though he listened still. + +A slight bustle in the court, recalled him to himself. Looking round, +he saw that the jurymen had turned together, to consider their verdict. +As his eyes wandered to the gallery, he could see the people rising +above each other to see his face: some hastily applying their glasses +to their eyes: and others whispering their neighbours with looks +expressive of abhorrence. A few there were, who seemed unmindful of +him, and looked only to the jury, in impatient wonder how they could +delay. But in no one face—not even among the women, of whom there were +many there—could he read the faintest sympathy with himself, or any +feeling but one of all-absorbing interest that he should be condemned. + +As he saw all this in one bewildered glance, the deathlike stillness +came again, and looking back he saw that the jurymen had turned towards +the judge. Hush! + +They only sought permission to retire. + +He looked, wistfully, into their faces, one by one when they passed +out, as though to see which way the greater number leant; but that was +fruitless. The jailer touched him on the shoulder. He followed +mechanically to the end of the dock, and sat down on a chair. The man +pointed it out, or he would not have seen it. + +He looked up into the gallery again. Some of the people were eating, +and some fanning themselves with handkerchiefs; for the crowded place +was very hot. There was one young man sketching his face in a little +note-book. He wondered whether it was like, and looked on when the +artist broke his pencil-point, and made another with his knife, as any +idle spectator might have done. + +In the same way, when he turned his eyes towards the judge, his mind +began to busy itself with the fashion of his dress, and what it cost, +and how he put it on. There was an old fat gentleman on the bench, too, +who had gone out, some half an hour before, and now come back. He +wondered within himself whether this man had been to get his dinner, +what he had had, and where he had had it; and pursued this train of +careless thought until some new object caught his eye and roused +another. + +Not that, all this time, his mind was, for an instant, free from one +oppressive overwhelming sense of the grave that opened at his feet; it +was ever present to him, but in a vague and general way, and he could +not fix his thoughts upon it. Thus, even while he trembled, and turned +burning hot at the idea of speedy death, he fell to counting the iron +spikes before him, and wondering how the head of one had been broken +off, and whether they would mend it, or leave it as it was. Then, he +thought of all the horrors of the gallows and the scaffold—and stopped +to watch a man sprinkling the floor to cool it—and then went on to +think again. + +At length there was a cry of silence, and a breathless look from all +towards the door. The jury returned, and passed him close. He could +glean nothing from their faces; they might as well have been of stone. +Perfect stillness ensued—not a rustle—not a breath—Guilty. + +The building rang with a tremendous shout, and another, and another, +and then it echoed loud groans, that gathered strength as they swelled +out, like angry thunder. It was a peal of joy from the populace +outside, greeting the news that he would die on Monday. + +The noise subsided, and he was asked if he had anything to say why +sentence of death should not be passed upon him. He had resumed his +listening attitude, and looked intently at his questioner while the +demand was made; but it was twice repeated before he seemed to hear it, +and then he only muttered that he was an old man—an old man—and so, +dropping into a whisper, was silent again. + +The judge assumed the black cap, and the prisoner still stood with the +same air and gesture. A woman in the gallery, uttered some exclamation, +called forth by this dread solemnity; he looked hastily up as if angry +at the interruption, and bent forward yet more attentively. The address +was solemn and impressive; the sentence fearful to hear. But he stood, +like a marble figure, without the motion of a nerve. His haggard face +was still thrust forward, his under-jaw hanging down, and his eyes +staring out before him, when the jailer put his hand upon his arm, and +beckoned him away. He gazed stupidly about him for an instant, and +obeyed. + +They led him through a paved room under the court, where some prisoners +were waiting till their turns came, and others were talking to their +friends, who crowded round a grate which looked into the open yard. +There was nobody there to speak to _him_; but, as he passed, the +prisoners fell back to render him more visible to the people who were +clinging to the bars: and they assailed him with opprobrious names, and +screeched and hissed. He shook his fist, and would have spat upon them; +but his conductors hurried him on, through a gloomy passage lighted by +a few dim lamps, into the interior of the prison. + +Here, he was searched, that he might not have about him the means of +anticipating the law; this ceremony performed, they led him to one of +the condemned cells, and left him there—alone. + +He sat down on a stone bench opposite the door, which served for seat +and bedstead; and casting his blood-shot eyes upon the ground, tried to +collect his thoughts. After awhile, he began to remember a few +disjointed fragments of what the judge had said: though it had seemed +to him, at the time, that he could not hear a word. These gradually +fell into their proper places, and by degrees suggested more: so that +in a little time he had the whole, almost as it was delivered. To be +hanged by the neck, till he was dead—that was the end. To be hanged by +the neck till he was dead. + +As it came on very dark, he began to think of all the men he had known +who had died upon the scaffold; some of them through his means. They +rose up, in such quick succession, that he could hardly count them. He +had seen some of them die,—and had joked too, because they died with +prayers upon their lips. With what a rattling noise the drop went down; +and how suddenly they changed, from strong and vigorous men to dangling +heaps of clothes! + +Some of them might have inhabited that very cell—sat upon that very +spot. It was very dark; why didn’t they bring a light? The cell had +been built for many years. Scores of men must have passed their last +hours there. It was like sitting in a vault strewn with dead bodies—the +cap, the noose, the pinioned arms, the faces that he knew, even beneath +that hideous veil.—Light, light! + +At length, when his hands were raw with beating against the heavy door +and walls, two men appeared: one bearing a candle, which he thrust into +an iron candlestick fixed against the wall: the other dragging in a +mattress on which to pass the night; for the prisoner was to be left +alone no more. + +Then came the night—dark, dismal, silent night. Other watchers are glad +to hear this church-clock strike, for they tell of life and coming day. +To him they brought despair. The boom of every iron bell came laden +with the one, deep, hollow sound—Death. What availed the noise and +bustle of cheerful morning, which penetrated even there, to him? It was +another form of knell, with mockery added to the warning. + +The day passed off. Day? There was no day; it was gone as soon as +come—and night came on again; night so long, and yet so short; long in +its dreadful silence, and short in its fleeting hours. At one time he +raved and blasphemed; and at another howled and tore his hair. +Venerable men of his own persuasion had come to pray beside him, but he +had driven them away with curses. They renewed their charitable +efforts, and he beat them off. + +Saturday night. He had only one night more to live. And as he thought +of this, the day broke—Sunday. + +It was not until the night of this last awful day, that a withering +sense of his helpless, desperate state came in its full intensity upon +his blighted soul; not that he had ever held any defined or positive +hope of mercy, but that he had never been able to consider more than +the dim probability of dying so soon. He had spoken little to either of +the two men, who relieved each other in their attendance upon him; and +they, for their parts, made no effort to rouse his attention. He had +sat there, awake, but dreaming. Now, he started up, every minute, and +with gasping mouth and burning skin, hurried to and fro, in such a +paroxysm of fear and wrath that even they—used to such sights—recoiled +from him with horror. He grew so terrible, at last, in all the tortures +of his evil conscience, that one man could not bear to sit there, +eyeing him alone; and so the two kept watch together. + +He cowered down upon his stone bed, and thought of the past. He had +been wounded with some missiles from the crowd on the day of his +capture, and his head was bandaged with a linen cloth. His red hair +hung down upon his bloodless face; his beard was torn, and twisted into +knots; his eyes shone with a terrible light; his unwashed flesh +crackled with the fever that burnt him up. Eight—nine—then. If it was +not a trick to frighten him, and those were the real hours treading on +each other’s heels, where would he be, when they came round again! +Eleven! Another struck, before the voice of the previous hour had +ceased to vibrate. At eight, he would be the only mourner in his own +funeral train; at eleven— + +Those dreadful walls of Newgate, which have hidden so much misery and +such unspeakable anguish, not only from the eyes, but, too often, and +too long, from the thoughts, of men, never held so dread a spectacle as +that. The few who lingered as they passed, and wondered what the man +was doing who was to be hanged tomorrow, would have slept but ill that +night, if they could have seen him. + +From early in the evening until nearly midnight, little groups of two +and three presented themselves at the lodge-gate, and inquired, with +anxious faces, whether any reprieve had been received. These being +answered in the negative, communicated the welcome intelligence to +clusters in the street, who pointed out to one another the door from +which he must come out, and showed where the scaffold would be built, +and, walking with unwilling steps away, turned back to conjure up the +scene. By degrees they fell off, one by one; and, for an hour, in the +dead of night, the street was left to solitude and darkness. + +The space before the prison was cleared, and a few strong barriers, +painted black, had been already thrown across the road to break the +pressure of the expected crowd, when Mr. Brownlow and Oliver appeared +at the wicket, and presented an order of admission to the prisoner, +signed by one of the sheriffs. They were immediately admitted into the +lodge. + +“Is the young gentleman to come too, sir?” said the man whose duty it +was to conduct them. “It’s not a sight for children, sir.” + +“It is not indeed, my friend,” rejoined Mr. Brownlow; “but my business +with this man is intimately connected with him; and as this child has +seen him in the full career of his success and villainy, I think it as +well—even at the cost of some pain and fear—that he should see him +now.” + +These few words had been said apart, so as to be inaudible to Oliver. +The man touched his hat; and glancing at Oliver with some curiousity, +opened another gate, opposite to that by which they had entered, and +led them on, through dark and winding ways, towards the cells. + +“This,” said the man, stopping in a gloomy passage where a couple of +workmen were making some preparations in profound silence—“this is the +place he passes through. If you step this way, you can see the door he +goes out at.” + +He led them into a stone kitchen, fitted with coppers for dressing the +prison food, and pointed to a door. There was an open grating above it, +through which came the sound of men’s voices, mingled with the noise of +hammering, and the throwing down of boards. They were putting up the +scaffold. + +From this place, they passed through several strong gates, opened by +other turnkeys from the inner side; and, having entered an open yard, +ascended a flight of narrow steps, and came into a passage with a row +of strong doors on the left hand. Motioning them to remain where they +were, the turnkey knocked at one of these with his bunch of keys. The +two attendants, after a little whispering, came out into the passage, +stretching themselves as if glad of the temporary relief, and motioned +the visitors to follow the jailer into the cell. They did so. + +The condemned criminal was seated on his bed, rocking himself from side +to side, with a countenance more like that of a snared beast than the +face of a man. His mind was evidently wandering to his old life, for he +continued to mutter, without appearing conscious of their presence +otherwise than as a part of his vision. + +“Good boy, Charley—well done—” he mumbled. “Oliver, too, ha! ha! ha! +Oliver too—quite the gentleman now—quite the—take that boy away to +bed!” + +The jailer took the disengaged hand of Oliver; and, whispering him not +to be alarmed, looked on without speaking. + +“Take him away to bed!” cried Fagin. “Do you hear me, some of you? He +has been the—the—somehow the cause of all this. It’s worth the money to +bring him up to it—Bolter’s throat, Bill; never mind the girl—Bolter’s +throat as deep as you can cut. Saw his head off!” + +“Fagin,” said the jailer. + +“That’s me!” cried the Jew, falling instantly, into the attitude of +listening he had assumed upon his trial. “An old man, my Lord; a very +old, old man!” + +“Here,” said the turnkey, laying his hand upon his breast to keep him +down. “Here’s somebody wants to see you, to ask you some questions, I +suppose. Fagin, Fagin! Are you a man?” + +“I shan’t be one long,” he replied, looking up with a face retaining no +human expression but rage and terror. “Strike them all dead! What right +have they to butcher me?” + +As he spoke he caught sight of Oliver and Mr. Brownlow. Shrinking to +the furthest corner of the seat, he demanded to know what they wanted +there. + +“Steady,” said the turnkey, still holding him down. “Now, sir, tell him +what you want. Quick, if you please, for he grows worse as the time +gets on.” + +“You have some papers,” said Mr. Brownlow advancing, “which were placed +in your hands, for better security, by a man called Monks.” + +“It’s all a lie together,” replied Fagin. “I haven’t one—not one.” + +“For the love of God,” said Mr. Brownlow solemnly, “do not say that +now, upon the very verge of death; but tell me where they are. You know +that Sikes is dead; that Monks has confessed; that there is no hope of +any further gain. Where are those papers?” + +“Oliver,” cried Fagin, beckoning to him. “Here, here! Let me whisper to +you.” + +“I am not afraid,” said Oliver in a low voice, as he relinquished Mr. +Brownlow’s hand. + +“The papers,” said Fagin, drawing Oliver towards him, “are in a canvas +bag, in a hole a little way up the chimney in the top front-room. I +want to talk to you, my dear. I want to talk to you.” + +“Yes, yes,” returned Oliver. “Let me say a prayer. Do! Let me say one +prayer. Say only one, upon your knees, with me, and we will talk till +morning.” + +“Outside, outside,” replied Fagin, pushing the boy before him towards +the door, and looking vacantly over his head. “Say I’ve gone to +sleep—they’ll believe you. You can get me out, if you take me so. Now +then, now then!” + +“Oh! God forgive this wretched man!” cried the boy with a burst of +tears. + +“That’s right, that’s right,” said Fagin. “That’ll help us on. This +door first. If I shake and tremble, as we pass the gallows, don’t you +mind, but hurry on. Now, now, now!” + +“Have you nothing else to ask him, sir?” inquired the turnkey. + +“No other question,” replied Mr. Brownlow. “If I hoped we could recall +him to a sense of his position—” + +“Nothing will do that, sir,” replied the man, shaking his head. “You +had better leave him.” + +The door of the cell opened, and the attendants returned. + +“Press on, press on,” cried Fagin. “Softly, but not so slow. Faster, +faster!” + +The men laid hands upon him, and disengaging Oliver from his grasp, +held him back. He struggled with the power of desperation, for an +instant; and then sent up cry upon cry that penetrated even those +massive walls, and rang in their ears until they reached the open yard. + +It was some time before they left the prison. Oliver nearly swooned +after this frightful scene, and was so weak that for an hour or more, +he had not the strength to walk. + +Day was dawning when they again emerged. A great multitude had already +assembled; the windows were filled with people, smoking and playing +cards to beguile the time; the crowd were pushing, quarrelling, joking. +Everything told of life and animation, but one dark cluster of objects +in the centre of all—the black stage, the cross-beam, the rope, and all +the hideous apparatus of death. + + + + + CHAPTER LIII. +AND LAST + + +The fortunes of those who have figured in this tale are nearly closed. +The little that remains to their historian to relate, is told in few +and simple words. + +Before three months had passed, Rose Fleming and Harry Maylie were +married in the village church which was henceforth to be the scene of +the young clergyman’s labours; on the same day they entered into +possession of their new and happy home. + +Mrs. Maylie took up her abode with her son and daughter-in-law, to +enjoy, during the tranquil remainder of her days, the greatest felicity +that age and worth can know—the contemplation of the happiness of those +on whom the warmest affections and tenderest cares of a well-spent +life, have been unceasingly bestowed. + +It appeared, on full and careful investigation, that if the wreck of +property remaining in the custody of Monks (which had never prospered +either in his hands or in those of his mother) were equally divided +between himself and Oliver, it would yield, to each, little more than +three thousand pounds. By the provisions of his father’s will, Oliver +would have been entitled to the whole; but Mr. Brownlow, unwilling to +deprive the elder son of the opportunity of retrieving his former vices +and pursuing an honest career, proposed this mode of distribution, to +which his young charge joyfully acceded. + +Monks, still bearing that assumed name, retired with his portion to a +distant part of the New World; where, having quickly squandered it, he +once more fell into his old courses, and, after undergoing a long +confinement for some fresh act of fraud and knavery, at length sunk +under an attack of his old disorder, and died in prison. As far from +home, died the chief remaining members of his friend Fagin’s gang. + +Mr. Brownlow adopted Oliver as his son. Removing with him and the old +housekeeper to within a mile of the parsonage-house, where his dear +friends resided, he gratified the only remaining wish of Oliver’s warm +and earnest heart, and thus linked together a little society, whose +condition approached as nearly to one of perfect happiness as can ever +be known in this changing world. + +Soon after the marriage of the young people, the worthy doctor returned +to Chertsey, where, bereft of the presence of his old friends, he would +have been discontented if his temperament had admitted of such a +feeling; and would have turned quite peevish if he had known how. For +two or three months, he contented himself with hinting that he feared +the air began to disagree with him; then, finding that the place really +no longer was, to him, what it had been, he settled his business on his +assistant, took a bachelor’s cottage outside the village of which his +young friend was pastor, and instantaneously recovered. Here he took to +gardening, planting, fishing, carpentering, and various other pursuits +of a similar kind: all undertaken with his characteristic impetuosity. +In each and all he has since become famous throughout the neighborhood, +as a most profound authority. + +Before his removal, he had managed to contract a strong friendship for +Mr. Grimwig, which that eccentric gentleman cordially reciprocated. He +is accordingly visited by Mr. Grimwig a great many times in the course +of the year. On all such occasions, Mr. Grimwig plants, fishes, and +carpenters, with great ardour; doing everything in a very singular and +unprecedented manner, but always maintaining with his favourite +asseveration, that his mode is the right one. On Sundays, he never +fails to criticise the sermon to the young clergyman’s face: always +informing Mr. Losberne, in strict confidence afterwards, that he +considers it an excellent performance, but deems it as well not to say +so. It is a standing and very favourite joke, for Mr. Brownlow to rally +him on his old prophecy concerning Oliver, and to remind him of the +night on which they sat with the watch between them, waiting his +return; but Mr. Grimwig contends that he was right in the main, and, in +proof thereof, remarks that Oliver did not come back after all; which +always calls forth a laugh on his side, and increases his good humour. + +Mr. Noah Claypole: receiving a free pardon from the Crown in +consequence of being admitted approver against Fagin: and considering +his profession not altogether as safe a one as he could wish: was, for +some little time, at a loss for the means of a livelihood, not burdened +with too much work. After some consideration, he went into business as +an informer, in which calling he realises a genteel subsistence. His +plan is, to walk out once a week during church time attended by +Charlotte in respectable attire. The lady faints away at the doors of +charitable publicans, and the gentleman being accommodated with +three-penny worth of brandy to restore her, lays an information next +day, and pockets half the penalty. Sometimes Mr. Claypole faints +himself, but the result is the same. + +Mr. and Mrs. Bumble, deprived of their situations, were gradually +reduced to great indigence and misery, and finally became paupers in +that very same workhouse in which they had once lorded it over others. +Mr. Bumble has been heard to say, that in this reverse and degradation, +he has not even spirits to be thankful for being separated from his +wife. + +As to Mr. Giles and Brittles, they still remain in their old posts, +although the former is bald, and the last-named boy quite grey. They +sleep at the parsonage, but divide their attentions so equally among +its inmates, and Oliver and Mr. Brownlow, and Mr. Losberne, that to +this day the villagers have never been able to discover to which +establishment they properly belong. + +Master Charles Bates, appalled by Sikes’s crime, fell into a train of +reflection whether an honest life was not, after all, the best. +Arriving at the conclusion that it certainly was, he turned his back +upon the scenes of the past, resolved to amend it in some new sphere of +action. He struggled hard, and suffered much, for some time; but, +having a contented disposition, and a good purpose, succeeded in the +end; and, from being a farmer’s drudge, and a carrier’s lad, he is now +the merriest young grazier in all Northamptonshire. + +And now, the hand that traces these words, falters, as it approaches +the conclusion of its task; and would weave, for a little longer space, +the thread of these adventures. + +I would fain linger yet with a few of those among whom I have so long +moved, and share their happiness by endeavouring to depict it. I would +show Rose Maylie in all the bloom and grace of early womanhood, +shedding on her secluded path in life soft and gentle light, that fell +on all who trod it with her, and shone into their hearts. I would paint +her the life and joy of the fire-side circle and the lively summer +group; I would follow her through the sultry fields at noon, and hear +the low tones of her sweet voice in the moonlit evening walk; I would +watch her in all her goodness and charity abroad, and the smiling +untiring discharge of domestic duties at home; I would paint her and +her dead sister’s child happy in their love for one another, and +passing whole hours together in picturing the friends whom they had so +sadly lost; I would summon before me, once again, those joyous little +faces that clustered round her knee, and listen to their merry prattle; +I would recall the tones of that clear laugh, and conjure up the +sympathising tear that glistened in the soft blue eye. These, and a +thousand looks and smiles, and turns of thought and speech—I would fain +recall them every one. + +How Mr. Brownlow went on, from day to day, filling the mind of his +adopted child with stores of knowledge, and becoming attached to him, +more and more, as his nature developed itself, and showed the thriving +seeds of all he wished him to become—how he traced in him new traits of +his early friend, that awakened in his own bosom old remembrances, +melancholy and yet sweet and soothing—how the two orphans, tried by +adversity, remembered its lessons in mercy to others, and mutual love, +and fervent thanks to Him who had protected and preserved them—these +are all matters which need not to be told. I have said that they were +truly happy; and without strong affection and humanity of heart, and +gratitude to that Being whose code is Mercy, and whose great attribute +is Benevolence to all things that breathe, happiness can never be +attained. + +Within the altar of the old village church there stands a white marble +tablet, which bears as yet but one word: “AGNES.” There is no coffin in +that tomb; and may it be many, many years, before another name is +placed above it! But, if the spirits of the Dead ever come back to +earth, to visit spots hallowed by the love—the love beyond the grave—of +those whom they knew in life, I believe that the shade of Agnes +sometimes hovers round that solemn nook. I believe it none the less +because that nook is in a Church, and she was weak and erring. + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 730 *** diff --git a/730-h/730-h.htm b/730-h/730-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..38929de --- /dev/null +++ b/730-h/730-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,25471 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>Oliver Twist | Project Gutenberg</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 730 ***</div> + +<h1>Oliver Twist</h1> + +<h4>OR</h4> + +<h3 class="no-break">THE PARISH BOY’S PROGRESS</h3> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Charles Dickens</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td>I </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap01">TREATS OF THE PLACE WHERE OLIVER TWIST WAS BORN AND OF THE CIRCUMSTANCES ATTENDING HIS BIRTH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>II </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap02">TREATS OF OLIVER TWIST’S GROWTH, EDUCATION, AND BOARD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>III </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap03">RELATES HOW OLIVER TWIST WAS VERY NEAR GETTING A PLACE WHICH WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN A SINECURE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>IV </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap04">OLIVER, BEING OFFERED ANOTHER PLACE, MAKES HIS FIRST ENTRY INTO PUBLIC LIFE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>V </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap05">OLIVER MINGLES WITH NEW ASSOCIATES. GOING TO A FUNERAL FOR THE FIRST TIME, HE FORMS AN UNFAVOURABLE NOTION OF HIS MASTER’S BUSINESS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>VI </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap06">OLIVER, BEING GOADED BY THE TAUNTS OF NOAH, ROUSES INTO ACTION, AND RATHER ASTONISHES HIM</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>VII </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap07">OLIVER CONTINUES REFRACTORY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>VIII </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap08">OLIVER WALKS TO LONDON. HE ENCOUNTERS ON THE ROAD A STRANGE SORT OF YOUNG GENTLEMAN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>IX </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap09">CONTAINING FURTHER PARTICULARS CONCERNING THE PLEASANT OLD GENTLEMAN, AND HIS HOPEFUL PUPILS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>X </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap10">OLIVER BECOMES BETTER ACQUAINTED WITH THE CHARACTERS OF HIS NEW ASSOCIATES; AND PURCHASES EXPERIENCE AT A HIGH PRICE. BEING A SHORT, BUT VERY IMPORTANT CHAPTER, IN THIS HISTORY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XI </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap11">TREATS OF MR. FANG THE POLICE MAGISTRATE; AND FURNISHES A SLIGHT SPECIMEN OF HIS MODE OF ADMINISTERING JUSTICE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XII </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap12">IN WHICH OLIVER IS TAKEN BETTER CARE OF THAN HE EVER WAS BEFORE. AND IN WHICH THE NARRATIVE REVERTS TO THE MERRY OLD GENTLEMAN AND HIS YOUTHFUL FRIENDS.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XIII </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap13">SOME NEW ACQUAINTANCES ARE INTRODUCED TO THE INTELLIGENT READER, CONNECTED WITH WHOM VARIOUS PLEASANT MATTERS ARE RELATED, APPERTAINING TO THIS HISTORY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XIV </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap14">COMPRISING FURTHER PARTICULARS OF OLIVER’S STAY AT MR. BROWNLOW’S, WITH THE REMARKABLE PREDICTION WHICH ONE MR. GRIMWIG UTTERED CONCERNING HIM, WHEN HE WENT OUT ON AN ERRAND</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XV </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap15">SHOWING HOW VERY FOND OF OLIVER TWIST, THE MERRY OLD JEW AND MISS NANCY WERE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XVI </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap16">RELATES WHAT BECAME OF OLIVER TWIST, AFTER HE HAD BEEN CLAIMED BY NANCY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XVII </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap17">OLIVER’S DESTINY CONTINUING UNPROPITIOUS, BRINGS A GREAT MAN TO LONDON TO INJURE HIS REPUTATION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XVIII </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap18">HOW OLIVER PASSED HIS TIME IN THE IMPROVING SOCIETY OF HIS REPUTABLE FRIENDS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XIX </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap19">IN WHICH A NOTABLE PLAN IS DISCUSSED AND DETERMINED ON</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XX </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap20">WHEREIN OLIVER IS DELIVERED OVER TO MR. WILLIAM SIKES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XXI </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap21">THE EXPEDITION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XXII </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap22">THE BURGLARY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XXIII </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap23">WHICH CONTAINS THE SUBSTANCE OF A PLEASANT CONVERSATION BETWEEN MR. BUMBLE AND A LADY; AND SHOWS THAT EVEN A BEADLE MAY BE SUSCEPTIBLE ON SOME POINTS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XXIV </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap24">TREATS ON A VERY POOR SUBJECT, BUT IS A SHORT ONE, AND MAY BE FOUND OF IMPORTANCE IN THIS HISTORY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XXV </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap25">WHEREIN THIS HISTORY REVERTS TO MR. FAGIN AND COMPANY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XXVI </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap26">IN WHICH A MYSTERIOUS CHARACTER APPEARS UPON THE SCENE; AND MANY THINGS, INSEPARABLE FROM THIS HISTORY, ARE DONE AND PERFORMED</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XXVII </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap27">ATONES FOR THE UNPOLITENESS OF A FORMER CHAPTER; WHICH DESERTED A LADY, MOST UNCEREMONIOUSLY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XXVIII </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap28">LOOKS AFTER OLIVER, AND PROCEEDS WITH HIS ADVENTURES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XXIX </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap29">HAS AN INTRODUCTORY ACCOUNT OF THE INMATES OF THE HOUSE, TO WHICH OLIVER RESORTED</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XXX </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap30">RELATES WHAT OLIVER’S NEW VISITORS THOUGHT OF HIM</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XXXI </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap31">INVOLVES A CRITICAL POSITION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XXXII </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap32">OF THE HAPPY LIFE OLIVER BEGAN TO LEAD WITH HIS KIND FRIENDS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XXXIII </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap33">WHEREIN THE HAPPINESS OF OLIVER AND HIS FRIENDS, EXPERIENCES A SUDDEN CHECK</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XXXIV </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap34">CONTAINS SOME INTRODUCTORY PARTICULARS RELATIVE TO A YOUNG GENTLEMAN WHO NOW ARRIVES UPON THE SCENE; AND A NEW ADVENTURE WHICH HAPPENED TO OLIVER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XXXV </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap35">CONTAINING THE UNSATISFACTORY RESULT OF OLIVER’S ADVENTURE; AND A CONVERSATION OF SOME IMPORTANCE BETWEEN HARRY MAYLIE AND ROSE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XXXVI </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap36">IS A VERY SHORT ONE, AND MAY APPEAR OF NO GREAT IMPORTANCE IN ITS PLACE, BUT IT SHOULD BE READ NOTWITHSTANDING, AS A SEQUEL TO THE LAST, AND A KEY TO ONE THAT WILL FOLLOW WHEN ITS TIME ARRIVES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XXXVII </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap37">IN WHICH THE READER MAY PERCEIVE A CONTRAST, NOT UNCOMMON IN MATRIMONIAL CASES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XXXVIII </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap38">CONTAINING AN ACCOUNT OF WHAT PASSED BETWEEN MR. AND MRS. BUMBLE, AND MR. MONKS, AT THEIR NOCTURNAL INTERVIEW</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XXXIX </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap39">INTRODUCES SOME RESPECTABLE CHARACTERS WITH WHOM THE READER IS ALREADY ACQUAINTED, AND SHOWS HOW MONKS AND THE JEW LAID THEIR WORTHY HEADS TOGETHER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XL </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap40">A STRANGE INTERVIEW, WHICH IS A SEQUEL TO THE LAST CHAMBER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XLI </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap41">CONTAINING FRESH DISCOVERIES, AND SHOWING THAT SUPRISES, LIKE MISFORTUNES, SELDOM COME ALONE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XLII </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap42">AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE OF OLIVER’S, EXHIBITING DECIDED MARKS OF GENIUS, BECOMES A PUBLIC CHARACTER IN THE METROPOLIS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XLIII </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap43">WHEREIN IS SHOWN HOW THE ARTFUL DODGER GOT INTO TROUBLE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XLIV </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap44">THE TIME ARRIVES FOR NANCY TO REDEEM HER PLEDGE TO ROSE MAYLIE. SHE FAILS.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XLV </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap45">NOAH CLAYPOLE IS EMPLOYED BY FAGIN ON A SECRET MISSION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XLVI </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap46">THE APPOINTMENT KEPT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XLVII </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap47">FATAL CONSEQUENCES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XLVIII </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap48">THE FLIGHT OF SIKES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>XLIX </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap49">MONKS AND MR. BROWNLOW AT LENGTH MEET. THEIR CONVERSATION, AND THE INTELLIGENCE THAT INTERRUPTS IT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>L </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap50">THE PURSUIT AND ESCAPE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>LI </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap51">AFFORDING AN EXPLANATION OF MORE MYSTERIES THAN ONE, AND COMPREHENDING A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE WITH NO WORD OF SETTLEMENT OR PIN-MONEY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>LII </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap52">FAGIN’S LAST NIGHT ALIVE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>LIII </td> +<td> +<a href="#chap53">AND LAST</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a> CHAPTER I.<br/> +TREATS OF THE PLACE WHERE OLIVER TWIST WAS BORN AND OF THE CIRCUMSTANCES +ATTENDING HIS BIRTH</h2> + +<p> +Among other public buildings in a certain town, which for many reasons it will +be prudent to refrain from mentioning, and to which I will assign no fictitious +name, there is one anciently common to most towns, great or small: to wit, a +workhouse; and in this workhouse was born; on a day and date which I need not +trouble myself to repeat, inasmuch as it can be of no possible consequence to +the reader, in this stage of the business at all events; the item of mortality +whose name is prefixed to the head of this chapter. +</p> + +<p> +For a long time after it was ushered into this world of sorrow and trouble, by +the parish surgeon, it remained a matter of considerable doubt whether the +child would survive to bear any name at all; in which case it is somewhat more +than probable that these memoirs would never have appeared; or, if they had, +that being comprised within a couple of pages, they would have possessed the +inestimable merit of being the most concise and faithful specimen of biography, +extant in the literature of any age or country. +</p> + +<p> +Although I am not disposed to maintain that being born in a workhouse, is +in itself the most fortunate and enviable circumstance that can possibly befall +a human being, I do mean to say that in this particular instance, it was the +best thing for Oliver Twist that could by possibility have occurred. The fact +is, that there was considerable difficulty in inducing Oliver to take upon +himself the office of respiration,—a troublesome practice, but one which custom +has rendered necessary to our easy existence; and for some time he lay gasping +on a little flock mattress, rather unequally poised between this world and the +next: the balance being decidedly in favour of the latter. Now, if, during this +brief period, Oliver had been surrounded by careful grandmothers, anxious +aunts, experienced nurses, and doctors of profound wisdom, he would most +inevitably and indubitably have been killed in no time. There being nobody by, +however, but a pauper old woman, who was rendered rather misty by an unwonted +allowance of beer; and a parish surgeon who did such matters by contract; +Oliver and Nature fought out the point between them. The result was, that, +after a few struggles, Oliver breathed, sneezed, and proceeded to advertise to +the inmates of the workhouse the fact of a new burden having been imposed upon +the parish, by setting up as loud a cry as could reasonably have been expected +from a male infant who had not been possessed of that very useful appendage, a +voice, for a much longer space of time than three minutes and a quarter. +</p> + +<p> +As Oliver gave this first proof of the free and proper action of his lungs, the +patchwork coverlet which was carelessly flung over the iron bedstead, rustled; +the pale face of a young woman was raised feebly from the pillow; and a faint +voice imperfectly articulated the words, “Let me see the child, and die.” +</p> + +<p> +The surgeon had been sitting with his face turned towards the fire: giving the +palms of his hands a warm and a rub alternately. As the young woman spoke, he +rose, and advancing to the bed’s head, said, with more kindness than might have +been expected of him: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you must not talk about dying yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lor bless her dear heart, no!” interposed the nurse, hastily depositing in her +pocket a green glass bottle, the contents of which she had been tasting in a +corner with evident satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +“Lor bless her dear heart, when she has lived as long as I have, sir, and had +thirteen children of her own, and all on ’em dead except two, and them in the +wurkus with me, she’ll know better than to take on in that way, bless her dear +heart! Think what it is to be a mother, there’s a dear young lamb, do.” +</p> + +<p> +Apparently this consolatory perspective of a mother’s prospects failed in +producing its due effect. The patient shook her head, and stretched out her +hand towards the child. +</p> + +<p> +The surgeon deposited it in her arms. She imprinted her cold white lips +passionately on its forehead; passed her hands over her face; gazed wildly +round; shuddered; fell back—and died. They chafed her breast, hands, and +temples; but the blood had stopped forever. They talked of hope and comfort. +They had been strangers too long. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all over, Mrs. Thingummy!” said the surgeon at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, poor dear, so it is!” said the nurse, picking up the cork of the green +bottle, which had fallen out on the pillow, as she stooped to take up the +child. “Poor dear!” +</p> + +<p> +“You needn’t mind sending up to me, if the child cries, nurse,” said the +surgeon, putting on his gloves with great deliberation. “It’s very likely it +<i>will</i> be troublesome. Give it a little gruel if it is.” He put on his +hat, and, pausing by the bed-side on his way to the door, added, “She was a +good-looking girl, too; where did she come from?” +</p> + +<p> +“She was brought here last night,” replied the old woman, “by the overseer’s +order. She was found lying in the street. She had walked some distance, for her +shoes were worn to pieces; but where she came from, or where she was going to, +nobody knows.” +</p> + +<p> +The surgeon leaned over the body, and raised the left hand. “The old story,” he +said, shaking his head: “no wedding-ring, I see. Ah! Good-night!” +</p> + +<p> +The medical gentleman walked away to dinner; and the nurse, having once more +applied herself to the green bottle, sat down on a low chair before the fire, +and proceeded to dress the infant. +</p> + +<p> +What an excellent example of the power of dress, young Oliver Twist was! +Wrapped in the blanket which had hitherto formed his only covering, he might +have been the child of a nobleman or a beggar; it would have been hard for the +haughtiest stranger to have assigned him his proper station in society. But now +that he was enveloped in the old calico robes which had grown yellow in the +same service, he was badged and ticketed, and fell into his place at once—a +parish child—the orphan of a workhouse—the humble, half-starved drudge—to be +cuffed and buffeted through the world—despised by all, and pitied by none. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver cried lustily. If he could have known that he was an orphan, left to the +tender mercies of churchwardens and overseers, perhaps he would have cried the +louder. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a> CHAPTER II.<br/> +TREATS OF OLIVER TWIST’S GROWTH, EDUCATION, AND BOARD</h2> + +<p> +For the next eight or ten months, Oliver was the victim of a systematic course +of treachery and deception. He was brought up by hand. The hungry and destitute +situation of the infant orphan was duly reported by the workhouse authorities +to the parish authorities. The parish authorities inquired with dignity of the +workhouse authorities, whether there was no female then domiciled in “the +house” who was in a situation to impart to Oliver Twist, the consolation and +nourishment of which he stood in need. The workhouse authorities replied with +humility, that there was not. Upon this, the parish authorities magnanimously +and humanely resolved, that Oliver should be “farmed,” or, in other words, that +he should be dispatched to a branch-workhouse some three miles off, where +twenty or thirty other juvenile offenders against the poor-laws, rolled about +the floor all day, without the inconvenience of too much food or too much +clothing, under the parental superintendence of an elderly female, who received +the culprits at and for the consideration of sevenpence-halfpenny per small +head per week. Sevenpence-halfpenny’s worth per week is a good round diet for a +child; a great deal may be got for sevenpence-halfpenny, quite enough to +overload its stomach, and make it uncomfortable. The elderly female was a woman +of wisdom and experience; she knew what was good for children; and she had a +very accurate perception of what was good for herself. So, she appropriated the +greater part of the weekly stipend to her own use, and consigned the rising +parochial generation to even a shorter allowance than was originally provided +for them. Thereby finding in the lowest depth a deeper still; and proving +herself a very great experimental philosopher. +</p> + +<p> +Everybody knows the story of another experimental philosopher who had a great +theory about a horse being able to live without eating, and who demonstrated it +so well, that he had got his own horse down to a straw a day, and would +unquestionably have rendered him a very spirited and rampacious animal on +nothing at all, if he had not died, four-and-twenty hours before he was to have +had his first comfortable bait of air. Unfortunately for the experimental +philosophy of the female to whose protecting care Oliver Twist was delivered +over, a similar result usually attended the operation of <i>her</i> system; for +at the very moment when the child had contrived to exist upon the smallest +possible portion of the weakest possible food, it did perversely happen in +eight and a half cases out of ten, either that it sickened from want and cold, +or fell into the fire from neglect, or got half-smothered by accident; in any +one of which cases, the miserable little being was usually summoned into +another world, and there gathered to the fathers it had never known in this. +</p> + +<p> +Occasionally, when there was some more than usually interesting inquest upon a +parish child who had been overlooked in turning up a bedstead, or inadvertently +scalded to death when there happened to be a washing—though the latter accident +was very scarce, anything approaching to a washing being of rare occurrence in +the farm—the jury would take it into their heads to ask troublesome questions, +or the parishioners would rebelliously affix their signatures to a +remonstrance. But these impertinences were speedily checked by the evidence of +the surgeon, and the testimony of the beadle; the former of whom had always +opened the body and found nothing inside (which was very probable indeed), and +the latter of whom invariably swore whatever the parish wanted; which was very +self-devotional. Besides, the board made periodical pilgrimages to the farm, +and always sent the beadle the day before, to say they were going. The children +were neat and clean to behold, when <i>they</i> went; and what more would the +people have! +</p> + +<p> +It cannot be expected that this system of farming would produce any very +extraordinary or luxuriant crop. Oliver Twist’s ninth birthday found him a pale +thin child, somewhat diminutive in stature, and decidedly small in +circumference. But nature or inheritance had implanted a good sturdy spirit in +Oliver’s breast. It had had plenty of room to expand, thanks to the spare diet +of the establishment; and perhaps to this circumstance may be attributed his +having any ninth birth-day at all. Be this as it may, however, it was his ninth +birthday; and he was keeping it in the coal-cellar with a select party of two +other young gentleman, who, after participating with him in a sound thrashing, +had been locked up for atrociously presuming to be hungry, when Mrs. Mann, the +good lady of the house, was unexpectedly startled by the apparition of Mr. +Bumble, the beadle, striving to undo the wicket of the garden-gate. +</p> + +<p> +“Goodness gracious! Is that you, Mr. Bumble, sir?” said Mrs. Mann, thrusting +her head out of the window in well-affected ecstasies of joy. “(Susan, take +Oliver and them two brats upstairs, and wash ’em directly.)—My heart alive! Mr. +Bumble, how glad I am to see you, sure-ly!” +</p> + +<p> +Now, Mr. Bumble was a fat man, and a choleric; so, instead of responding to +this open-hearted salutation in a kindred spirit, he gave the little wicket a +tremendous shake, and then bestowed upon it a kick which could have emanated +from no leg but a beadle’s. +</p> + +<p> +“Lor, only think,” said Mrs. Mann, running out,—for the three boys had been +removed by this time,—“only think of that! That I should have forgotten that +the gate was bolted on the inside, on account of them dear children! Walk in +sir; walk in, pray, Mr. Bumble, do, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Although this invitation was accompanied with a curtsey that might have +softened the heart of a churchwarden, it by no means mollified the beadle. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think this respectful or proper conduct, Mrs. Mann,” inquired Mr. +Bumble, grasping his cane, “to keep the parish officers a waiting at your +garden-gate, when they come here upon porochial business with the porochial +orphans? Are you aweer, Mrs. Mann, that you are, as I may say, a porochial +delegate, and a stipendiary?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure Mr. Bumble, that I was only a telling one or two of the dear children +as is so fond of you, that it was you a coming,” replied Mrs. Mann with great +humility. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble had a great idea of his oratorical powers and his importance. He had +displayed the one, and vindicated the other. He relaxed. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well, Mrs. Mann,” he replied in a calmer tone; “it may be as you say; it +may be. Lead the way in, Mrs. Mann, for I come on business, and have something +to say.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mann ushered the beadle into a small parlour with a brick floor; placed a +seat for him; and officiously deposited his cocked hat and cane on the table +before him. Mr. Bumble wiped from his forehead the perspiration which his walk +had engendered, glanced complacently at the cocked hat, and smiled. Yes, he +smiled. Beadles are but men: and Mr. Bumble smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Now don’t you be offended at what I’m a going to say,” observed Mrs. Mann, +with captivating sweetness. “You’ve had a long walk, you know, or I wouldn’t +mention it. Now, will you take a little drop of somethink, Mr. Bumble?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a drop. Nor a drop,” said Mr. Bumble, waving his right hand in a +dignified, but placid manner. +</p> + +<p> +“I think you will,” said Mrs. Mann, who had noticed the tone of the refusal, +and the gesture that had accompanied it. “Just a leetle drop, with a little +cold water, and a lump of sugar.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble coughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, just a leetle drop,” said Mrs. Mann persuasively. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” inquired the beadle. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, it’s what I’m obliged to keep a little of in the house, to put into the +blessed infants’ Daffy, when they ain’t well, Mr. Bumble,” replied Mrs. Mann as +she opened a corner cupboard, and took down a bottle and glass. “It’s gin. I’ll +not deceive you, Mr. B. It’s gin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you give the children Daffy, Mrs. Mann?” inquired Bumble, following with +his eyes the interesting process of mixing. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, bless ’em, that I do, dear as it is,” replied the nurse. “I couldn’t see +’em suffer before my very eyes, you know sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“No”; said Mr. Bumble approvingly; “no, you could not. You are a humane woman, +Mrs. Mann.” (Here she set down the glass.) “I shall take a early opportunity of +mentioning it to the board, Mrs. Mann.” (He drew it towards him.) “You feel as +a mother, Mrs. Mann.” (He stirred the gin-and-water.) “I—I drink your health +with cheerfulness, Mrs. Mann”; and he swallowed half of it. +</p> + +<p> +“And now about business,” said the beadle, taking out a leathern pocket-book. +“The child that was half-baptized Oliver Twist, is nine year old today.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bless him!” interposed Mrs. Mann, inflaming her left eye with the corner of +her apron. +</p> + +<p> +“And notwithstanding a offered reward of ten pound, which was afterwards +increased to twenty pound. Notwithstanding the most superlative, and, I may +say, supernat’ral exertions on the part of this parish,” said Bumble, “we have +never been able to discover who is his father, or what was his mother’s +settlement, name, or condition.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mann raised her hands in astonishment; but added, after a moment’s +reflection, “How comes he to have any name at all, then?” +</p> + +<p> +The beadle drew himself up with great pride, and said, “I inwented it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You, Mr. Bumble!” +</p> + +<p> +“I, Mrs. Mann. We name our fondlings in alphabetical order. The last was a +S,—Swubble, I named him. This was a T,—Twist, I named <i>him</i>. The next one +comes will be Unwin, and the next Vilkins. I have got names ready made to the +end of the alphabet, and all the way through it again, when we come to Z.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you’re quite a literary character, sir!” said Mrs. Mann. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well,” said the beadle, evidently gratified with the compliment; +“perhaps I may be. Perhaps I may be, Mrs. Mann.” He finished the gin-and-water, +and added, “Oliver being now too old to remain here, the board have determined +to have him back into the house. I have come out myself to take him there. So +let me see him at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll fetch him directly,” said Mrs. Mann, leaving the room for that purpose. +Oliver, having had by this time as much of the outer coat of dirt which +encrusted his face and hands, removed, as could be scrubbed off in one washing, +was led into the room by his benevolent protectress. +</p> + +<p> +“Make a bow to the gentleman, Oliver,” said Mrs. Mann. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver made a bow, which was divided between the beadle on the chair, and the +cocked hat on the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you go along with me, Oliver?” said Mr. Bumble, in a majestic voice. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver was about to say that he would go along with anybody with great +readiness, when, glancing upward, he caught sight of Mrs. Mann, who had got +behind the beadle’s chair, and was shaking her fist at him with a furious +countenance. He took the hint at once, for the fist had been too often +impressed upon his body not to be deeply impressed upon his recollection. +</p> + +<p> +“Will she go with me?” inquired poor Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“No, she can’t,” replied Mr. Bumble. “But she’ll come and see you sometimes.” +</p> + +<p> +This was no very great consolation to the child. Young as he was, however, he +had sense enough to make a feint of feeling great regret at going away. It was +no very difficult matter for the boy to call tears into his eyes. Hunger and +recent ill-usage are great assistants if you want to cry; and Oliver cried very +naturally indeed. Mrs. Mann gave him a thousand embraces, and what Oliver +wanted a great deal more, a piece of bread and butter, lest he should seem too +hungry when he got to the workhouse. With the slice of bread in his hand, and +the little brown-cloth parish cap on his head, Oliver was then led away by Mr. +Bumble from the wretched home where one kind word or look had never lighted the +gloom of his infant years. And yet he burst into an agony of childish grief, as +the cottage-gate closed after him. Wretched as were the little companions in +misery he was leaving behind, they were the only friends he had ever known; and +a sense of his loneliness in the great wide world, sank into the child’s heart +for the first time. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble walked on with long strides; little Oliver, firmly grasping his +gold-laced cuff, trotted beside him, inquiring at the end of every quarter of a +mile whether they were “nearly there.” To these interrogations Mr. Bumble +returned very brief and snappish replies; for the temporary blandness which +gin-and-water awakens in some bosoms had by this time evaporated; and he was +once again a beadle. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver had not been within the walls of the workhouse a quarter of an hour, and +had scarcely completed the demolition of a second slice of bread, when Mr. +Bumble, who had handed him over to the care of an old woman, returned; and, +telling him it was a board night, informed him that the board had said he was +to appear before it forthwith. +</p> + +<p> +Not having a very clearly defined notion of what a live board was, Oliver was +rather astounded by this intelligence, and was not quite certain whether he +ought to laugh or cry. He had no time to think about the matter, however; for +Mr. Bumble gave him a tap on the head, with his cane, to wake him up: and +another on the back to make him lively: and bidding him to follow, conducted +him into a large white-washed room, where eight or ten fat gentlemen were +sitting round a table. At the top of the table, seated in an arm-chair rather +higher than the rest, was a particularly fat gentleman with a very round, red +face. +</p> + +<p> +“Bow to the board,” said Bumble. Oliver brushed away two or three tears that +were lingering in his eyes; and seeing no board but the table, fortunately +bowed to that. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s your name, boy?” said the gentleman in the high chair. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver was frightened at the sight of so many gentlemen, which made him +tremble: and the beadle gave him another tap behind, which made him cry. These +two causes made him answer in a very low and hesitating voice; whereupon a +gentleman in a white waistcoat said he was a fool. Which was a capital way of +raising his spirits, and putting him quite at his ease. +</p> + +<p> +“Boy,” said the gentleman in the high chair, “listen to me. You know you’re an +orphan, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that, sir?” inquired poor Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“The boy <i>is</i> a fool—I thought he was,” said the gentleman in the white +waistcoat. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush!” said the gentleman who had spoken first. “You know you’ve got no father +or mother, and that you were brought up by the parish, don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” replied Oliver, weeping bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you crying for?” inquired the gentleman in the white waistcoat. And +to be sure it was very extraordinary. What <i>could</i> the boy be crying for? +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you say your prayers every night,” said another gentleman in a gruff +voice; “and pray for the people who feed you, and take care of you—like a +Christian.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” stammered the boy. The gentleman who spoke last was unconsciously +right. It would have been very like a Christian, and a marvellously good +Christian too, if Oliver had prayed for the people who fed and took care of +<i>him</i>. But he hadn’t, because nobody had taught him. +</p> + +<p> +“Well! You have come here to be educated, and taught a useful trade,” said the +red-faced gentleman in the high chair. +</p> + +<p> +“So you’ll begin to pick oakum tomorrow morning at six o’clock,” added the +surly one in the white waistcoat. +</p> + +<p> +For the combination of both these blessings in the one simple process of +picking oakum, Oliver bowed low by the direction of the beadle, and was then +hurried away to a large ward; where, on a rough, hard bed, he sobbed himself to +sleep. What a novel illustration of the tender laws of England! They let the +paupers go to sleep! +</p> + +<p> +Poor Oliver! He little thought, as he lay sleeping in happy unconsciousness of +all around him, that the board had that very day arrived at a decision which +would exercise the most material influence over all his future fortunes. But +they had. And this was it: +</p> + +<p> +The members of this board were very sage, deep, philosophical men; and when +they came to turn their attention to the workhouse, they found out at once, +what ordinary folks would never have discovered—the poor people liked it! It +was a regular place of public entertainment for the poorer classes; a tavern +where there was nothing to pay; a public breakfast, dinner, tea, and supper all +the year round; a brick and mortar elysium, where it was all play and no work. +“Oho!” said the board, looking very knowing; “we are the fellows to set this to +rights; we’ll stop it all, in no time.” So, they established the rule, that all +poor people should have the alternative (for they would compel nobody, not +they), of being starved by a gradual process in the house, or by a quick one +out of it. With this view, they contracted with the water-works to lay on an +unlimited supply of water; and with a corn-factory to supply periodically small +quantities of oatmeal; and issued three meals of thin gruel a day, with an +onion twice a week, and half a roll of Sundays. They made a great many other +wise and humane regulations, having reference to the ladies, which it is not +necessary to repeat; kindly undertook to divorce poor married people, in +consequence of the great expense of a suit in Doctors’ Commons; and, instead of +compelling a man to support his family, as they had theretofore done, took his +family away from him, and made him a bachelor! There is no saying how many +applicants for relief, under these last two heads, might have started up in all +classes of society, if it had not been coupled with the workhouse; but the +board were long-headed men, and had provided for this difficulty. The relief +was inseparable from the workhouse and the gruel; and that frightened people. +</p> + +<p> +For the first six months after Oliver Twist was removed, the system was in full +operation. It was rather expensive at first, in consequence of the increase in +the undertaker’s bill, and the necessity of taking in the clothes of all the +paupers, which fluttered loosely on their wasted, shrunken forms, after a week +or two’s gruel. But the number of workhouse inmates got thin as well as the +paupers; and the board were in ecstasies. +</p> + +<p> +The room in which the boys were fed, was a large stone hall, with a copper at +one end: out of which the master, dressed in an apron for the purpose, and +assisted by one or two women, ladled the gruel at mealtimes. Of this festive +composition each boy had one porringer, and no more—except on occasions of +great public rejoicing, when he had two ounces and a quarter of bread besides. +</p> + +<p> +The bowls never wanted washing. The boys polished them with their spoons till +they shone again; and when they had performed this operation (which never took +very long, the spoons being nearly as large as the bowls), they would sit +staring at the copper, with such eager eyes, as if they could have devoured the +very bricks of which it was composed; employing themselves, meanwhile, in +sucking their fingers most assiduously, with the view of catching up any stray +splashes of gruel that might have been cast thereon. Boys have generally +excellent appetites. Oliver Twist and his companions suffered the tortures of +slow starvation for three months: at last they got so voracious and wild with +hunger, that one boy, who was tall for his age, and hadn’t been used to that +sort of thing (for his father had kept a small cook-shop), hinted darkly to his +companions, that unless he had another basin of gruel per diem, he was afraid +he might some night happen to eat the boy who slept next him, who happened to +be a weakly youth of tender age. He had a wild, hungry eye; and they implicitly +believed him. A council was held; lots were cast who should walk up to the +master after supper that evening, and ask for more; and it fell to Oliver +Twist. +</p> + +<p> +The evening arrived; the boys took their places. The master, in his cook’s +uniform, stationed himself at the copper; his pauper assistants ranged +themselves behind him; the gruel was served out; and a long grace was said over +the short commons. The gruel disappeared; the boys whispered each other, and +winked at Oliver; while his next neighbours nudged him. Child as he was, he was +desperate with hunger, and reckless with misery. He rose from the table; and +advancing to the master, basin and spoon in hand, said: somewhat alarmed at his +own temerity: +</p> + +<p> +“Please, sir, I want some more.” +</p> + +<p> +The master was a fat, healthy man; but he turned very pale. He gazed in +stupefied astonishment on the small rebel for some seconds, and then clung for +support to the copper. The assistants were paralysed with wonder; the boys with +fear. +</p> + +<p> +“What!” said the master at length, in a faint voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Please, sir,” replied Oliver, “I want some more.” +</p> + +<p> +The master aimed a blow at Oliver’s head with the ladle; pinioned him in his +arm; and shrieked aloud for the beadle. +</p> + +<p> +The board were sitting in solemn conclave, when Mr. Bumble rushed into the room +in great excitement, and addressing the gentleman in the high chair, said, +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Limbkins, I beg your pardon, sir! Oliver Twist has asked for more!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a general start. Horror was depicted on every countenance. +</p> + +<p> +“For <i>more!</i>” said Mr. Limbkins. “Compose yourself, Bumble, and answer me +distinctly. Do I understand that he asked for more, after he had eaten the +supper allotted by the dietary?” +</p> + +<p> +“He did, sir,” replied Bumble. +</p> + +<p> +“That boy will be hung,” said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. “I know +that boy will be hung.” +</p> + +<p> +Nobody controverted the prophetic gentleman’s opinion. An animated discussion +took place. Oliver was ordered into instant confinement; and a bill was next +morning pasted on the outside of the gate, offering a reward of five pounds to +anybody who would take Oliver Twist off the hands of the parish. In other +words, five pounds and Oliver Twist were offered to any man or woman who wanted +an apprentice to any trade, business, or calling. +</p> + +<p> +“I never was more convinced of anything in my life,” said the gentleman in the +white waistcoat, as he knocked at the gate and read the bill next morning: “I +never was more convinced of anything in my life, than I am that that boy will +come to be hung.” +</p> + +<p> +As I purpose to show in the sequel whether the white waistcoated gentleman was +right or not, I should perhaps mar the interest of this narrative (supposing it +to possess any at all), if I ventured to hint just yet, whether the life of +Oliver Twist had this violent termination or no. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a> CHAPTER III.<br/> +RELATES HOW OLIVER TWIST WAS VERY NEAR GETTING A PLACE WHICH WOULD NOT HAVE +BEEN A SINECURE</h2> + +<p> +For a week after the commission of the impious and profane offence of asking +for more, Oliver remained a close prisoner in the dark and solitary room to +which he had been consigned by the wisdom and mercy of the board. It appears, +at first sight not unreasonable to suppose, that, if he had entertained a +becoming feeling of respect for the prediction of the gentleman in the white +waistcoat, he would have established that sage individual’s prophetic +character, once and for ever, by tying one end of his pocket-handkerchief to a +hook in the wall, and attaching himself to the other. To the performance of +this feat, however, there was one obstacle: namely, that pocket-handkerchiefs +being decided articles of luxury, had been, for all future times and ages, +removed from the noses of paupers by the express order of the board, in council +assembled: solemnly given and pronounced under their hands and seals. There was +a still greater obstacle in Oliver’s youth and childishness. He only cried +bitterly all day; and, when the long, dismal night came on, spread his little +hands before his eyes to shut out the darkness, and crouching in the corner, +tried to sleep: ever and anon waking with a start and tremble, and drawing +himself closer and closer to the wall, as if to feel even its cold hard surface +were a protection in the gloom and loneliness which surrounded him. +</p> + +<p> +Let it not be supposed by the enemies of “the system,” that, during the period +of his solitary incarceration, Oliver was denied the benefit of exercise, the +pleasure of society, or the advantages of religious consolation. As for +exercise, it was nice cold weather, and he was allowed to perform his ablutions +every morning under the pump, in a stone yard, in the presence of Mr. Bumble, +who prevented his catching cold, and caused a tingling sensation to pervade his +frame, by repeated applications of the cane. As for society, he was carried +every other day into the hall where the boys dined, and there sociably flogged +as a public warning and example. And so far from being denied the advantages of +religious consolation, he was kicked into the same apartment every evening at +prayer-time, and there permitted to listen to, and console his mind with, a +general supplication of the boys, containing a special clause, therein inserted +by authority of the board, in which they entreated to be made good, virtuous, +contented, and obedient, and to be guarded from the sins and vices of Oliver +Twist: whom the supplication distinctly set forth to be under the exclusive +patronage and protection of the powers of wickedness, and an article direct +from the manufactory of the very Devil himself. +</p> + +<p> +It chanced one morning, while Oliver’s affairs were in this auspicious and +comfortable state, that Mr. Gamfield, chimney-sweep, went his way down the High +Street, deeply cogitating in his mind his ways and means of paying certain +arrears of rent, for which his landlord had become rather pressing. Mr. +Gamfield’s most sanguine estimate of his finances could not raise them within +full five pounds of the desired amount; and, in a species of arithmetical +desperation, he was alternately cudgelling his brains and his donkey, when +passing the workhouse, his eyes encountered the bill on the gate. +</p> + +<p> +“Wo—o!” said Mr. Gamfield to the donkey. +</p> + +<p> +The donkey was in a state of profound abstraction: wondering, probably, whether +he was destined to be regaled with a cabbage-stalk or two when he had disposed +of the two sacks of soot with which the little cart was laden; so, without +noticing the word of command, he jogged onward. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gamfield growled a fierce imprecation on the donkey generally, but more +particularly on his eyes; and, running after him, bestowed a blow on his head, +which would inevitably have beaten in any skull but a donkey’s. Then, catching +hold of the bridle, he gave his jaw a sharp wrench, by way of gentle reminder +that he was not his own master; and by these means turned him round. He then +gave him another blow on the head, just to stun him till he came back again. +Having completed these arrangements, he walked up to the gate, to read the +bill. +</p> + +<p> +The gentleman with the white waistcoat was standing at the gate with his hands +behind him, after having delivered himself of some profound sentiments in the +board-room. Having witnessed the little dispute between Mr. Gamfield and the +donkey, he smiled joyously when that person came up to read the bill, for he +saw at once that Mr. Gamfield was exactly the sort of master Oliver Twist +wanted. Mr. Gamfield smiled, too, as he perused the document; for five pounds +was just the sum he had been wishing for; and, as to the boy with which it was +encumbered, Mr. Gamfield, knowing what the dietary of the workhouse was, well +knew he would be a nice small pattern, just the very thing for register stoves. +So, he spelt the bill through again, from beginning to end; and then, touching +his fur cap in token of humility, accosted the gentleman in the white +waistcoat. +</p> + +<p> +“This here boy, sir, wot the parish wants to ’prentis,” said Mr. Gamfield. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, my man,” said the gentleman in the white waistcoat, with a condescending +smile. “What of him?” +</p> + +<p> +“If the parish vould like him to learn a right pleasant trade, in a good +’spectable chimbley-sweepin’ bisness,” said Mr. Gamfield, “I wants a ’prentis, +and I am ready to take him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Walk in,” said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. Mr. Gamfield having +lingered behind, to give the donkey another blow on the head, and another +wrench of the jaw, as a caution not to run away in his absence, followed the +gentleman with the white waistcoat into the room where Oliver had first seen +him. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a nasty trade,” said Mr. Limbkins, when Gamfield had again stated his +wish. +</p> + +<p> +“Young boys have been smothered in chimneys before now,” said another +gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s acause they damped the straw afore they lit it in the chimbley to make +’em come down again,” said Gamfield; “that’s all smoke, and no blaze; vereas +smoke ain’t o’ no use at all in making a boy come down, for it only sinds him +to sleep, and that’s wot he likes. Boys is wery obstinit, and wery lazy, +Gen’l’men, and there’s nothink like a good hot blaze to make ’em come down vith +a run. It’s humane too, gen’l’men, acause, even if they’ve stuck in the +chimbley, roasting their feet makes ’em struggle to hextricate theirselves.” +</p> + +<p> +The gentleman in the white waistcoat appeared very much amused by this +explanation; but his mirth was speedily checked by a look from Mr. Limbkins. +The board then proceeded to converse among themselves for a few minutes, but in +so low a tone, that the words “saving of expenditure,” “looked well in the +accounts,” “have a printed report published,” were alone audible. These only +chanced to be heard, indeed, on account of their being very frequently repeated +with great emphasis. +</p> + +<p> +At length the whispering ceased; and the members of the board, having resumed +their seats and their solemnity, Mr. Limbkins said: +</p> + +<p> +“We have considered your proposition, and we don’t approve of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all,” said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. +</p> + +<p> +“Decidedly not,” added the other members. +</p> + +<p> +As Mr. Gamfield did happen to labour under the slight imputation of having +bruised three or four boys to death already, it occurred to him that the board +had, perhaps, in some unaccountable freak, taken it into their heads that this +extraneous circumstance ought to influence their proceedings. It was very +unlike their general mode of doing business, if they had; but still, as he had +no particular wish to revive the rumour, he twisted his cap in his hands, and +walked slowly from the table. +</p> + +<p> +“So you won’t let me have him, gen’l’men?” said Mr. Gamfield, pausing near the +door. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied Mr. Limbkins; “at least, as it’s a nasty business, we think you +ought to take something less than the premium we offered.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gamfield’s countenance brightened, as, with a quick step, he returned to +the table, and said, +</p> + +<p> +“What’ll you give, gen’l’men? Come! Don’t be too hard on a poor man. What’ll +you give?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should say, three pound ten was plenty,” said Mr. Limbkins. +</p> + +<p> +“Ten shillings too much,” said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. +</p> + +<p> +“Come!” said Gamfield; “say four pound, gen’l’men. Say four pound, and you’ve +got rid of him for good and all. There!” +</p> + +<p> +“Three pound ten,” repeated Mr. Limbkins, firmly. +</p> + +<p> +“Come! I’ll split the diff’erence, gen’l’men,” urged Gamfield. “Three pound +fifteen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a farthing more,” was the firm reply of Mr. Limbkins. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re desperate hard upon me, gen’l’men,” said Gamfield, wavering. +</p> + +<p> +“Pooh! pooh! nonsense!” said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. “He’d be +cheap with nothing at all, as a premium. Take him, you silly fellow! He’s just +the boy for you. He wants the stick, now and then: it’ll do him good; and his +board needn’t come very expensive, for he hasn’t been overfed since he was +born. Ha! ha! ha!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gamfield gave an arch look at the faces round the table, and, observing a +smile on all of them, gradually broke into a smile himself. The bargain was +made. Mr. Bumble, was at once instructed that Oliver Twist and his indentures +were to be conveyed before the magistrate, for signature and approval, that +very afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +In pursuance of this determination, little Oliver, to his excessive +astonishment, was released from bondage, and ordered to put himself into a +clean shirt. He had hardly achieved this very unusual gymnastic performance, +when Mr. Bumble brought him, with his own hands, a basin of gruel, and the +holiday allowance of two ounces and a quarter of bread. At this tremendous +sight, Oliver began to cry very piteously: thinking, not unnaturally, that the +board must have determined to kill him for some useful purpose, or they never +would have begun to fatten him up in that way. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t make your eyes red, Oliver, but eat your food and be thankful,” said Mr. +Bumble, in a tone of impressive pomposity. “You’re a going to be made a +’prentice of, Oliver.” +</p> + +<p> +“A prentice, sir!” said the child, trembling. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Oliver,” said Mr. Bumble. “The kind and blessed gentleman which is so +many parents to you, Oliver, when you have none of your own: are a going to +“prentice” you: and to set you up in life, and make a man of you: although the +expense to the parish is three pound ten!—three pound ten, Oliver!—seventy +shillins—one hundred and forty sixpences!—and all for a naughty orphan which +nobody can’t love.” +</p> + +<p> +As Mr. Bumble paused to take breath, after delivering this address in an awful +voice, the tears rolled down the poor child’s face, and he sobbed bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +“Come,” said Mr. Bumble, somewhat less pompously, for it was gratifying to his +feelings to observe the effect his eloquence had produced; “Come, Oliver! Wipe +your eyes with the cuffs of your jacket, and don’t cry into your gruel; that’s +a very foolish action, Oliver.” It certainly was, for there was quite enough +water in it already. +</p> + +<p> +On their way to the magistrate, Mr. Bumble instructed Oliver that all he would +have to do, would be to look very happy, and say, when the gentleman asked him +if he wanted to be apprenticed, that he should like it very much indeed; both +of which injunctions Oliver promised to obey: the rather as Mr. Bumble threw in +a gentle hint, that if he failed in either particular, there was no telling +what would be done to him. When they arrived at the office, he was shut up in a +little room by himself, and admonished by Mr. Bumble to stay there, until he +came back to fetch him. +</p> + +<p> +There the boy remained, with a palpitating heart, for half an hour. At the +expiration of which time Mr. Bumble thrust in his head, unadorned with the +cocked hat, and said aloud: +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Oliver, my dear, come to the gentleman.” As Mr. Bumble said this, he put +on a grim and threatening look, and added, in a low voice, “Mind what I told +you, you young rascal!” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver stared innocently in Mr. Bumble’s face at this somewhat contradictory +style of address; but that gentleman prevented his offering any remark +thereupon, by leading him at once into an adjoining room: the door of which was +open. It was a large room, with a great window. Behind a desk, sat two old +gentleman with powdered heads: one of whom was reading the newspaper; while the +other was perusing, with the aid of a pair of tortoise-shell spectacles, a +small piece of parchment which lay before him. Mr. Limbkins was standing in +front of the desk on one side; and Mr. Gamfield, with a partially washed face, +on the other; while two or three bluff-looking men, in top-boots, were lounging +about. +</p> + +<p> +The old gentleman with the spectacles gradually dozed off, over the little bit +of parchment; and there was a short pause, after Oliver had been stationed by +Mr. Bumble in front of the desk. +</p> + +<p> +“This is the boy, your worship,” said Mr. Bumble. +</p> + +<p> +The old gentleman who was reading the newspaper raised his head for a moment, +and pulled the other old gentleman by the sleeve; whereupon, the last-mentioned +old gentleman woke up. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, is this the boy?” said the old gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“This is him, sir,” replied Mr. Bumble. “Bow to the magistrate, my dear.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver roused himself, and made his best obeisance. He had been wondering, with +his eyes fixed on the magistrates’ powder, whether all boards were born with +that white stuff on their heads, and were boards from thenceforth on that +account. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the old gentleman, “I suppose he’s fond of chimney-sweeping?” +</p> + +<p> +“He doats on it, your worship,” replied Bumble; giving Oliver a sly pinch, to +intimate that he had better not say he didn’t. +</p> + +<p> +“And he <i>will</i> be a sweep, will he?” inquired the old gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“If we was to bind him to any other trade tomorrow, he’d run away +simultaneous, your worship,” replied Bumble. +</p> + +<p> +“And this man that’s to be his master—you, sir—you’ll treat him well, and feed +him, and do all that sort of thing, will you?” said the old gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“When I says I will, I means I will,” replied Mr. Gamfield doggedly. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a rough speaker, my friend, but you look an honest, open-hearted man,” +said the old gentleman: turning his spectacles in the direction of the +candidate for Oliver’s premium, whose villainous countenance was a regular +stamped receipt for cruelty. But the magistrate was half blind and half +childish, so he couldn’t reasonably be expected to discern what other people +did. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope I am, sir,” said Mr. Gamfield, with an ugly leer. +</p> + +<p> +“I have no doubt you are, my friend,” replied the old gentleman: fixing his +spectacles more firmly on his nose, and looking about him for the inkstand. +</p> + +<p> +It was the critical moment of Oliver’s fate. If the inkstand had been where the +old gentleman thought it was, he would have dipped his pen into it, and signed +the indentures, and Oliver would have been straightway hurried off. But, as it +chanced to be immediately under his nose, it followed, as a matter of course, +that he looked all over his desk for it, without finding it; and happening in +the course of his search to look straight before him, his gaze encountered the +pale and terrified face of Oliver Twist: who, despite all the admonitory looks +and pinches of Bumble, was regarding the repulsive countenance of his future +master, with a mingled expression of horror and fear, too palpable to be +mistaken, even by a half-blind magistrate. +</p> + +<p> +The old gentleman stopped, laid down his pen, and looked from Oliver to Mr. +Limbkins; who attempted to take snuff with a cheerful and unconcerned aspect. +</p> + +<p> +“My boy!” said the old gentleman, “you look pale and alarmed. What is the +matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“Stand a little away from him, Beadle,” said the other magistrate: laying aside +the paper, and leaning forward with an expression of interest. “Now, boy, tell +us what’s the matter: don’t be afraid.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver fell on his knees, and clasping his hands together, prayed that they +would order him back to the dark room—that they would starve him—beat him—kill +him if they pleased—rather than send him away with that dreadful man. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” said Mr. Bumble, raising his hands and eyes with most impressive +solemnity. “Well! of all the artful and designing orphans that ever I see, +Oliver, you are one of the most bare-facedest.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hold your tongue, Beadle,” said the second old gentleman, when Mr. Bumble had +given vent to this compound adjective. +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your worship’s pardon,” said Mr. Bumble, incredulous of having heard +aright. “Did your worship speak to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Hold your tongue.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble was stupefied with astonishment. A beadle ordered to hold his +tongue! A moral revolution! +</p> + +<p> +The old gentleman in the tortoise-shell spectacles looked at his companion, he +nodded significantly. +</p> + +<p> +“We refuse to sanction these indentures,” said the old gentleman: tossing aside +the piece of parchment as he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope,” stammered Mr. Limbkins: “I hope the magistrates will not form the +opinion that the authorities have been guilty of any improper conduct, on the +unsupported testimony of a child.” +</p> + +<p> +“The magistrates are not called upon to pronounce any opinion on the matter,” +said the second old gentleman sharply. “Take the boy back to the workhouse, and +treat him kindly. He seems to want it.” +</p> + +<p> +That same evening, the gentleman in the white waistcoat most positively and +decidedly affirmed, not only that Oliver would be hung, but that he would be +drawn and quartered into the bargain. Mr. Bumble shook his head with gloomy +mystery, and said he wished he might come to good; whereunto Mr. Gamfield +replied, that he wished he might come to him; which, although he agreed with +the beadle in most matters, would seem to be a wish of a totally opposite +description. +</p> + +<p> +The next morning, the public were once informed that Oliver Twist was again to +let, and that five pounds would be paid to anybody who would take possession of +him. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a> CHAPTER IV.<br/> +OLIVER, BEING OFFERED ANOTHER PLACE, MAKES HIS FIRST ENTRY INTO PUBLIC +LIFE</h2> + +<p> +In great families, when an advantageous place cannot be obtained, either in +possession, reversion, remainder, or expectancy, for the young man who is +growing up, it is a very general custom to send him to sea. The board, in +imitation of so wise and salutary an example, took counsel together on the +expediency of shipping off Oliver Twist, in some small trading vessel bound to +a good unhealthy port. This suggested itself as the very best thing that could +possibly be done with him: the probability being, that the skipper would flog +him to death, in a playful mood, some day after dinner, or would knock his +brains out with an iron bar; both pastimes being, as is pretty generally known, +very favourite and common recreations among gentleman of that class. The more +the case presented itself to the board, in this point of view, the more +manifold the advantages of the step appeared; so, they came to the conclusion +that the only way of providing for Oliver effectually, was to send him to sea +without delay. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble had been despatched to make various preliminary inquiries, with the +view of finding out some captain or other who wanted a cabin-boy without any +friends; and was returning to the workhouse to communicate the result of his +mission; when he encountered at the gate, no less a person than Mr. Sowerberry, +the parochial undertaker. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Sowerberry was a tall gaunt, large-jointed man, attired in a suit of +threadbare black, with darned cotton stockings of the same colour, and shoes to +answer. His features were not naturally intended to wear a smiling aspect, but +he was in general rather given to professional jocosity. His step was elastic, +and his face betokened inward pleasantry, as he advanced to Mr. Bumble, and +shook him cordially by the hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I have taken the measure of the two women that died last night, Mr. Bumble,” +said the undertaker. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll make your fortune, Mr. Sowerberry,” said the beadle, as he thrust his +thumb and forefinger into the proffered snuff-box of the undertaker: which was +an ingenious little model of a patent coffin. “I say you’ll make your fortune, +Mr. Sowerberry,” repeated Mr. Bumble, tapping the undertaker on the shoulder, +in a friendly manner, with his cane. +</p> + +<p> +“Think so?” said the undertaker in a tone which half admitted and half disputed +the probability of the event. “The prices allowed by the board are very small, +Mr. Bumble.” +</p> + +<p> +“So are the coffins,” replied the beadle: with precisely as near an approach to +a laugh as a great official ought to indulge in. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Sowerberry was much tickled at this: as of course he ought to be; and +laughed a long time without cessation. “Well, well, Mr. Bumble,” he said at +length, “there’s no denying that, since the new system of feeding has come in, +the coffins are something narrower and more shallow than they used to be; but +we must have some profit, Mr. Bumble. Well-seasoned timber is an expensive +article, sir; and all the iron handles come, by canal, from Birmingham.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well,” said Mr. Bumble, “every trade has its drawbacks. A fair profit +is, of course, allowable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, of course,” replied the undertaker; “and if I don’t get a profit +upon this or that particular article, why, I make it up in the long-run, you +see—he! he! he!” +</p> + +<p> +“Just so,” said Mr. Bumble. +</p> + +<p> +“Though I must say,” continued the undertaker, resuming the current of +observations which the beadle had interrupted: “though I must say, Mr. Bumble, +that I have to contend against one very great disadvantage: which is, that all +the stout people go off the quickest. The people who have been better off, and +have paid rates for many years, are the first to sink when they come into the +house; and let me tell you, Mr. Bumble, that three or four inches over one’s +calculation makes a great hole in one’s profits: especially when one has a +family to provide for, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +As Mr. Sowerberry said this, with the becoming indignation of an ill-used man; +and as Mr. Bumble felt that it rather tended to convey a reflection on the +honour of the parish; the latter gentleman thought it advisable to change the +subject. Oliver Twist being uppermost in his mind, he made him his theme. +</p> + +<p> +“By the bye,” said Mr. Bumble, “you don’t know anybody who wants a boy, do you? +A porochial ’prentis, who is at present a dead-weight; a millstone, as I may +say, round the porochial throat? Liberal terms, Mr. Sowerberry, liberal terms?” +As Mr. Bumble spoke, he raised his cane to the bill above him, and gave three +distinct raps upon the words “five pounds”: which were printed thereon in Roman +capitals of gigantic size. +</p> + +<p> +“Gadso!” said the undertaker: taking Mr. Bumble by the gilt-edged lappel of his +official coat; “that’s just the very thing I wanted to speak to you about. You +know—dear me, what a very elegant button this is, Mr. Bumble! I never noticed +it before.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I think it rather pretty,” said the beadle, glancing proudly downwards at +the large brass buttons which embellished his coat. “The die is the same as the +porochial seal—the Good Samaritan healing the sick and bruised man. The board +presented it to me on Newyear’s morning, Mr. Sowerberry. I put it on, I +remember, for the first time, to attend the inquest on that reduced tradesman, +who died in a doorway at midnight.” +</p> + +<p> +“I recollect,” said the undertaker. “The jury brought it in, ‘Died from +exposure to the cold, and want of the common necessaries of life,’ didn’t +they?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“And they made it a special verdict, I think,” said the undertaker, “by adding +some words to the effect, that if the relieving officer had—” +</p> + +<p> +“Tush! Foolery!” interposed the beadle. “If the board attended to all the +nonsense that ignorant jurymen talk, they’d have enough to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very true,” said the undertaker; “they would indeed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Juries,” said Mr. Bumble, grasping his cane tightly, as was his wont when +working into a passion: “juries is ineddicated, vulgar, grovelling wretches.” +</p> + +<p> +“So they are,” said the undertaker. +</p> + +<p> +“They haven’t no more philosophy nor political economy about ’em than that,” +said the beadle, snapping his fingers contemptuously. +</p> + +<p> +“No more they have,” acquiesced the undertaker. +</p> + +<p> +“I despise ’em,” said the beadle, growing very red in the face. +</p> + +<p> +“So do I,” rejoined the undertaker. +</p> + +<p> +“And I only wish we’d a jury of the independent sort, in the house for a week +or two,” said the beadle; “the rules and regulations of the board would soon +bring their spirit down for ’em.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let ’em alone for that,” replied the undertaker. So saying, he smiled, +approvingly: to calm the rising wrath of the indignant parish officer. +</p> + +<p> +Mr Bumble lifted off his cocked hat; took a handkerchief from the inside of the +crown; wiped from his forehead the perspiration which his rage had engendered; +fixed the cocked hat on again; and, turning to the undertaker, said in a calmer +voice: +</p> + +<p> +“Well; what about the boy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” replied the undertaker; “why, you know, Mr. Bumble, I pay a good deal +towards the poor’s rates.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hem!” said Mr. Bumble. “Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” replied the undertaker, “I was thinking that if I pay so much towards +’em, I’ve a right to get as much out of ’em as I can, Mr. Bumble; and so—I +think I’ll take the boy myself.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble grasped the undertaker by the arm, and led him into the building. +Mr. Sowerberry was closeted with the board for five minutes; and it was +arranged that Oliver should go to him that evening “upon liking”—a phrase which +means, in the case of a parish apprentice, that if the master find, upon a +short trial, that he can get enough work out of a boy without putting too much +food into him, he shall have him for a term of years, to do what he likes with. +</p> + +<p> +When little Oliver was taken before “the gentlemen” that evening; and informed +that he was to go, that night, as general house-lad to a coffin-maker’s; and +that if he complained of his situation, or ever came back to the parish again, +he would be sent to sea, there to be drowned, or knocked on the head, as the +case might be, he evinced so little emotion, that they by common consent +pronounced him a hardened young rascal, and ordered Mr. Bumble to remove him +forthwith. +</p> + +<p> +Now, although it was very natural that the board, of all people in the world, +should feel in a great state of virtuous astonishment and horror at the +smallest tokens of want of feeling on the part of anybody, they were rather +out, in this particular instance. The simple fact was, that Oliver, instead of +possessing too little feeling, possessed rather too much; and was in a fair way +of being reduced, for life, to a state of brutal stupidity and sullenness by +the ill usage he had received. He heard the news of his destination, in perfect +silence; and, having had his luggage put into his hand—which was not very +difficult to carry, inasmuch as it was all comprised within the limits of a +brown paper parcel, about half a foot square by three inches deep—he pulled his +cap over his eyes; and once more attaching himself to Mr. Bumble’s coat cuff, +was led away by that dignitary to a new scene of suffering. +</p> + +<p> +For some time, Mr. Bumble drew Oliver along, without notice or remark; for the +beadle carried his head very erect, as a beadle always should: and, it being a +windy day, little Oliver was completely enshrouded by the skirts of Mr. +Bumble’s coat as they blew open, and disclosed to great advantage his flapped +waistcoat and drab plush knee-breeches. As they drew near to their destination, +however, Mr. Bumble thought it expedient to look down, and see that the boy was +in good order for inspection by his new master: which he accordingly did, with +a fit and becoming air of gracious patronage. +</p> + +<p> +“Oliver!” said Mr. Bumble. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” replied Oliver, in a low, tremulous voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Pull that cap off your eyes, and hold up your head, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Although Oliver did as he was desired, at once; and passed the back of his +unoccupied hand briskly across his eyes, he left a tear in them when he looked +up at his conductor. As Mr. Bumble gazed sternly upon him, it rolled down his +cheek. It was followed by another, and another. The child made a strong effort, +but it was an unsuccessful one. Withdrawing his other hand from Mr. Bumble’s he +covered his face with both; and wept until the tears sprung out from between +his chin and bony fingers. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” exclaimed Mr. Bumble, stopping short, and darting at his little charge +a look of intense malignity. “Well! Of <i>all</i> the ungratefullest, and +worst-disposed boys as ever I see, Oliver, you are the—” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, sir,” sobbed Oliver, clinging to the hand which held the well-known +cane; “no, no, sir; I will be good indeed; indeed, indeed I will, sir! I am a +very little boy, sir; and it is so—so—” +</p> + +<p> +“So what?” inquired Mr. Bumble in amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“So lonely, sir! So very lonely!” cried the child. “Everybody hates me. Oh! +sir, don’t, don’t pray be cross to me!” The child beat his hand upon his heart; +and looked in his companion’s face, with tears of real agony. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble regarded Oliver’s piteous and helpless look, with some astonishment, +for a few seconds; hemmed three or four times in a husky manner; and after +muttering something about “that troublesome cough,” bade Oliver dry his eyes +and be a good boy. Then once more taking his hand, he walked on with him in +silence. +</p> + +<p> +The undertaker, who had just put up the shutters of his shop, was making some +entries in his day-book by the light of a most appropriate dismal candle, when +Mr. Bumble entered. +</p> + +<p> +“Aha!” said the undertaker; looking up from the book, and pausing in the middle +of a word; “is that you, Bumble?” +</p> + +<p> +“No one else, Mr. Sowerberry,” replied the beadle. “Here! I’ve brought the +boy.” Oliver made a bow. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! that’s the boy, is it?” said the undertaker: raising the candle above his +head, to get a better view of Oliver. “Mrs. Sowerberry, will you have the +goodness to come here a moment, my dear?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sowerberry emerged from a little room behind the shop, and presented the +form of a short, thin, squeezed-up woman, with a vixenish countenance. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear,” said Mr. Sowerberry, deferentially, “this is the boy from the +workhouse that I told you of.” Oliver bowed again. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear me!” said the undertaker’s wife, “he’s very small.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, he <i>is</i> rather small,” replied Mr. Bumble: looking at Oliver as if +it were his fault that he was no bigger; “he is small. There’s no denying it. +But he’ll grow, Mrs. Sowerberry—he’ll grow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! I dare say he will,” replied the lady pettishly, “on our victuals and our +drink. I see no saving in parish children, not I; for they always cost more to +keep, than they’re worth. However, men always think they know best. There! Get +downstairs, little bag o’ bones.” With this, the undertaker’s wife opened a +side door, and pushed Oliver down a steep flight of stairs into a stone cell, +damp and dark: forming the ante-room to the coal-cellar, and denominated +“kitchen”; wherein sat a slatternly girl, in shoes down at heel, and blue +worsted stockings very much out of repair. +</p> + +<p> +“Here, Charlotte,” said Mr. Sowerberry, who had followed Oliver down, “give +this boy some of the cold bits that were put by for Trip. He hasn’t come home +since the morning, so he may go without ’em. I dare say the boy isn’t too +dainty to eat ’em—are you, boy?” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver, whose eyes had glistened at the mention of meat, and who was trembling +with eagerness to devour it, replied in the negative; and a plateful of coarse +broken victuals was set before him. +</p> + +<p> +I wish some well-fed philosopher, whose meat and drink turn to gall within him; +whose blood is ice, whose heart is iron; could have seen Oliver Twist clutching +at the dainty viands that the dog had neglected. I wish he could have witnessed +the horrible avidity with which Oliver tore the bits asunder with all the +ferocity of famine. There is only one thing I should like better; and that +would be to see the Philosopher making the same sort of meal himself, with the +same relish. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the undertaker’s wife, when Oliver had finished his supper: which +she had regarded in silent horror, and with fearful auguries of his future +appetite: “have you done?” +</p> + +<p> +There being nothing eatable within his reach, Oliver replied in the +affirmative. +</p> + +<p> +“Then come with me,” said Mrs. Sowerberry: taking up a dim and dirty lamp, and +leading the way upstairs; “your bed’s under the counter. You don’t mind +sleeping among the coffins, I suppose? But it doesn’t much matter whether you +do or don’t, for you can’t sleep anywhere else. Come; don’t keep me here all +night!” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver lingered no longer, but meekly followed his new mistress. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a> CHAPTER V.<br/> +OLIVER MINGLES WITH NEW ASSOCIATES. GOING TO A FUNERAL FOR THE FIRST TIME, HE +FORMS AN UNFAVOURABLE NOTION OF HIS MASTER’S BUSINESS</h2> + +<p> +Oliver, being left to himself in the undertaker’s shop, set the lamp down on a +workman’s bench, and gazed timidly about him with a feeling of awe and dread, +which many people a good deal older than he will be at no loss to understand. +An unfinished coffin on black tressels, which stood in the middle of the shop, +looked so gloomy and death-like that a cold tremble came over him, every time +his eyes wandered in the direction of the dismal object: from which he almost +expected to see some frightful form slowly rear its head, to drive him mad with +terror. Against the wall were ranged, in regular array, a long row of elm +boards cut in the same shape: looking in the dim light, like high-shouldered +ghosts with their hands in their breeches pockets. Coffin-plates, elm-chips, +bright-headed nails, and shreds of black cloth, lay scattered on the floor; and +the wall behind the counter was ornamented with a lively representation of two +mutes in very stiff neckcloths, on duty at a large private door, with a hearse +drawn by four black steeds, approaching in the distance. The shop was close and +hot. The atmosphere seemed tainted with the smell of coffins. The recess +beneath the counter in which his flock mattress was thrust, looked like a +grave. +</p> + +<p> +Nor were these the only dismal feelings which depressed Oliver. He was alone in +a strange place; and we all know how chilled and desolate the best of us will +sometimes feel in such a situation. The boy had no friends to care for, or to +care for him. The regret of no recent separation was fresh in his mind; the +absence of no loved and well-remembered face sank heavily into his heart. +</p> + +<p> +But his heart was heavy, notwithstanding; and he wished, as he crept into his +narrow bed, that that were his coffin, and that he could be lain in a calm and +lasting sleep in the churchyard ground, with the tall grass waving gently above +his head, and the sound of the old deep bell to soothe him in his sleep. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver was awakened in the morning, by a loud kicking at the outside of the +shop-door: which, before he could huddle on his clothes, was repeated, in an +angry and impetuous manner, about twenty-five times. When he began to undo the +chain, the legs desisted, and a voice began. +</p> + +<p> +“Open the door, will yer?” cried the voice which belonged to the legs which had +kicked at the door. +</p> + +<p> +“I will, directly, sir,” replied Oliver: undoing the chain, and turning the +key. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose yer the new boy, ain’t yer?” said the voice through the key-hole. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” replied Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“How old are yer?” inquired the voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Ten, sir,” replied Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll whop yer when I get in,” said the voice; “you just see if I don’t, +that’s all, my work’us brat!” and having made this obliging promise, the voice +began to whistle. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver had been too often subjected to the process to which the very expressive +monosyllable just recorded bears reference, to entertain the smallest doubt +that the owner of the voice, whoever he might be, would redeem his pledge, most +honourably. He drew back the bolts with a trembling hand, and opened the door. +</p> + +<p> +For a second or two, Oliver glanced up the street, and down the street, and +over the way: impressed with the belief that the unknown, who had addressed him +through the key-hole, had walked a few paces off, to warm himself; for nobody +did he see but a big charity-boy, sitting on a post in front of the house, +eating a slice of bread and butter: which he cut into wedges, the size of his +mouth, with a clasp-knife, and then consumed with great dexterity. +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Oliver at length: seeing that no other visitor +made his appearance; “did you knock?” +</p> + +<p> +“I kicked,” replied the charity-boy. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you want a coffin, sir?” inquired Oliver, innocently. +</p> + +<p> +At this, the charity-boy looked monstrous fierce; and said that Oliver would +want one before long, if he cut jokes with his superiors in that way. +</p> + +<p> +“Yer don’t know who I am, I suppose, Work’us?” said the charity-boy, in +continuation: descending from the top of the post, meanwhile, with edifying +gravity. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir,” rejoined Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m Mister Noah Claypole,” said the charity-boy, “and you’re under me. Take +down the shutters, yer idle young ruffian!” With this, Mr. Claypole +administered a kick to Oliver, and entered the shop with a dignified air, which +did him great credit. It is difficult for a large-headed, small-eyed youth, of +lumbering make and heavy countenance, to look dignified under any +circumstances; but it is more especially so, when superadded to these personal +attractions are a red nose and yellow smalls. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver, having taken down the shutters, and broken a pane of glass in his +effort to stagger away beneath the weight of the first one to a small court at +the side of the house in which they were kept during the day, was graciously +assisted by Noah: who having consoled him with the assurance that “he’d catch +it,” condescended to help him. Mr. Sowerberry came down soon after. Shortly +afterwards, Mrs. Sowerberry appeared. Oliver having “caught it,” in fulfilment +of Noah’s prediction, followed that young gentleman down the stairs to +breakfast. +</p> + +<p> +“Come near the fire, Noah,” said Charlotte. “I saved a nice little bit of bacon +for you from master’s breakfast. Oliver, shut that door at Mister Noah’s back, +and take them bits that I’ve put out on the cover of the bread-pan. There’s +your tea; take it away to that box, and drink it there, and make haste, for +they’ll want you to mind the shop. D’ye hear?” +</p> + +<p> +“D’ye hear, Work’us?” said Noah Claypole. +</p> + +<p> +“Lor, Noah!” said Charlotte, “what a rum creature you are! Why don’t you let +the boy alone?” +</p> + +<p> +“Let him alone!” said Noah. “Why everybody lets him alone enough, for the +matter of that. Neither his father nor his mother will ever interfere with him. +All his relations let him have his own way pretty well. Eh, Charlotte? He! he! +he!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you queer soul!” said Charlotte, bursting into a hearty laugh, in which +she was joined by Noah; after which they both looked scornfully at poor Oliver +Twist, as he sat shivering on the box in the coldest corner of the room, and +ate the stale pieces which had been specially reserved for him. +</p> + +<p> +Noah was a charity-boy, but not a workhouse orphan. No chance-child was he, for +he could trace his genealogy all the way back to his parents, who lived hard +by; his mother being a washerwoman, and his father a drunken soldier, +discharged with a wooden leg, and a diurnal pension of twopence-halfpenny and +an unstateable fraction. The shop-boys in the neighbourhood had long been in +the habit of branding Noah in the public streets, with the ignominious epithets +of “leathers,” “charity,” and the like; and Noah had borne them without reply. +But, now that fortune had cast in his way a nameless orphan, at whom even the +meanest could point the finger of scorn, he retorted on him with interest. This +affords charming food for contemplation. It shows us what a beautiful thing +human nature may be made to be; and how impartially the same amiable qualities +are developed in the finest lord and the dirtiest charity-boy. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver had been sojourning at the undertaker’s some three weeks or a month. Mr. +and Mrs. Sowerberry—the shop being shut up—were taking their supper in the +little back-parlour, when Mr. Sowerberry, after several deferential glances at +his wife, said, +</p> + +<p> +“My dear—” He was going to say more; but, Mrs. Sowerberry looking up, with a +peculiarly unpropitious aspect, he stopped short. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Mrs. Sowerberry, sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing, my dear, nothing,” said Mr. Sowerberry. +</p> + +<p> +“Ugh, you brute!” said Mrs. Sowerberry. +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all, my dear,” said Mr. Sowerberry humbly. “I thought you didn’t want +to hear, my dear. I was only going to say—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t tell me what you were going to say,” interposed Mrs. Sowerberry. “I +am nobody; don’t consult me, pray. <i>I</i> don’t want to intrude upon your +secrets.” As Mrs. Sowerberry said this, she gave an hysterical laugh, which +threatened violent consequences. +</p> + +<p> +“But, my dear,” said Sowerberry, “I want to ask your advice.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, don’t ask mine,” replied Mrs. Sowerberry, in an affecting manner: “ask +somebody else’s.” Here, there was another hysterical laugh, which frightened +Mr. Sowerberry very much. This is a very common and much-approved matrimonial +course of treatment, which is often very effective. It at once reduced Mr. +Sowerberry to begging, as a special favour, to be allowed to say what Mrs. +Sowerberry was most curious to hear. After a short duration, the permission was +most graciously conceded. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s only about young Twist, my dear,” said Mr. Sowerberry. “A very +good-looking boy, that, my dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“He need be, for he eats enough,” observed the lady. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s an expression of melancholy in his face, my dear,” resumed Mr. +Sowerberry, “which is very interesting. He would make a delightful mute, my +love.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sowerberry looked up with an expression of considerable wonderment. Mr. +Sowerberry remarked it and, without allowing time for any observation on the +good lady’s part, proceeded. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t mean a regular mute to attend grown-up people, my dear, but only for +children’s practice. It would be very new to have a mute in proportion, my +dear. You may depend upon it, it would have a superb effect.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sowerberry, who had a good deal of taste in the undertaking way, was much +struck by the novelty of this idea; but, as it would have been compromising her +dignity to have said so, under existing circumstances, she merely inquired, +with much sharpness, why such an obvious suggestion had not presented itself to +her husband’s mind before? Mr. Sowerberry rightly construed this, as an +acquiescence in his proposition; it was speedily determined, therefore, that +Oliver should be at once initiated into the mysteries of the trade; and, with +this view, that he should accompany his master on the very next occasion of his +services being required. +</p> + +<p> +The occasion was not long in coming. Half an hour after breakfast next morning, +Mr. Bumble entered the shop; and supporting his cane against the counter, drew +forth his large leathern pocket-book: from which he selected a small scrap of +paper, which he handed over to Sowerberry. +</p> + +<p> +“Aha!” said the undertaker, glancing over it with a lively countenance; “an +order for a coffin, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“For a coffin first, and a porochial funeral afterwards,” replied Mr. Bumble, +fastening the strap of the leathern pocket-book: which, like himself, was very +corpulent. +</p> + +<p> +“Bayton,” said the undertaker, looking from the scrap of paper to Mr. Bumble. +“I never heard the name before.” +</p> + +<p> +Bumble shook his head, as he replied, “Obstinate people, Mr. Sowerberry; very +obstinate. Proud, too, I’m afraid, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Proud, eh?” exclaimed Mr. Sowerberry with a sneer. “Come, that’s too much.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s sickening,” replied the beadle. “Antimonial, Mr. Sowerberry!” +</p> + +<p> +“So it is,” acquiesced the undertaker. +</p> + +<p> +“We only heard of the family the night before last,” said the beadle; “and we +shouldn’t have known anything about them, then, only a woman who lodges in the +same house made an application to the porochial committee for them to send the +porochial surgeon to see a woman as was very bad. He had gone out to dinner; +but his ’prentice (which is a very clever lad) sent ’em some medicine in a +blacking-bottle, offhand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, there’s promptness,” said the undertaker. +</p> + +<p> +“Promptness, indeed!” replied the beadle. “But what’s the consequence; what’s +the ungrateful behaviour of these rebels, sir? Why, the husband sends back word +that the medicine won’t suit his wife’s complaint, and so she shan’t take +it—says she shan’t take it, sir! Good, strong, wholesome medicine, as was given +with great success to two Irish labourers and a coal-heaver, only a week +before—sent ’em for nothing, with a blackin’-bottle in,—and he sends back word +that she shan’t take it, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +As the atrocity presented itself to Mr. Bumble’s mind in full force, he struck +the counter sharply with his cane, and became flushed with indignation. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the undertaker, “I ne—ver—did—” +</p> + +<p> +“Never did, sir!” ejaculated the beadle. “No, nor nobody never did; but now +she’s dead, we’ve got to bury her; and that’s the direction; and the sooner +it’s done, the better.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus saying, Mr. Bumble put on his cocked hat wrong side first, in a fever of +parochial excitement; and flounced out of the shop. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, he was so angry, Oliver, that he forgot even to ask after you!” said Mr. +Sowerberry, looking after the beadle as he strode down the street. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” replied Oliver, who had carefully kept himself out of sight, during +the interview; and who was shaking from head to foot at the mere recollection +of the sound of Mr. Bumble’s voice. He needn’t have taken the trouble to shrink +from Mr. Bumble’s glance, however; for that functionary, on whom the prediction +of the gentleman in the white waistcoat had made a very strong impression, +thought that now the undertaker had got Oliver upon trial the subject was +better avoided, until such time as he should be firmly bound for seven years, +and all danger of his being returned upon the hands of the parish should be +thus effectually and legally overcome. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Mr. Sowerberry, taking up his hat, “the sooner this job is done, +the better. Noah, look after the shop. Oliver, put on your cap, and come with +me.” Oliver obeyed, and followed his master on his professional mission. +</p> + +<p> +They walked on, for some time, through the most crowded and densely inhabited +part of the town; and then, striking down a narrow street more dirty and +miserable than any they had yet passed through, paused to look for the house +which was the object of their search. The houses on either side were high and +large, but very old, and tenanted by people of the poorest class: as their +neglected appearance would have sufficiently denoted, without the concurrent +testimony afforded by the squalid looks of the few men and women who, with +folded arms and bodies half doubled, occasionally skulked along. A great many +of the tenements had shop-fronts; but these were fast closed, and mouldering +away; only the upper rooms being inhabited. Some houses which had become +insecure from age and decay, were prevented from falling into the street, by +huge beams of wood reared against the walls, and firmly planted in the road; +but even these crazy dens seemed to have been selected as the nightly haunts of +some houseless wretches, for many of the rough boards which supplied the place +of door and window, were wrenched from their positions, to afford an aperture +wide enough for the passage of a human body. The kennel was stagnant and +filthy. The very rats, which here and there lay putrefying in its rottenness, +were hideous with famine. +</p> + +<p> +There was neither knocker nor bell-handle at the open door where Oliver and his +master stopped; so, groping his way cautiously through the dark passage, and +bidding Oliver keep close to him and not be afraid, the undertaker mounted to +the top of the first flight of stairs. Stumbling against a door on the landing, +he rapped at it with his knuckles. +</p> + +<p> +It was opened by a young girl of thirteen or fourteen. The undertaker at once +saw enough of what the room contained, to know it was the apartment to which he +had been directed. He stepped in; Oliver followed him. +</p> + +<p> +There was no fire in the room; but a man was crouching, mechanically, over the +empty stove. An old woman, too, had drawn a low stool to the cold hearth, and +was sitting beside him. There were some ragged children in another corner; and +in a small recess, opposite the door, there lay upon the ground, something +covered with an old blanket. Oliver shuddered as he cast his eyes toward the +place, and crept involuntarily closer to his master; for though it was covered +up, the boy felt that it was a corpse. +</p> + +<p> +The man’s face was thin and very pale; his hair and beard were grizzly; his +eyes were bloodshot. The old woman’s face was wrinkled; her two remaining teeth +protruded over her under lip; and her eyes were bright and piercing. Oliver was +afraid to look at either her or the man. They seemed so like the rats he had +seen outside. +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody shall go near her,” said the man, starting fiercely up, as the +undertaker approached the recess. “Keep back! Damn you, keep back, if you’ve a +life to lose!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense, my good man,” said the undertaker, who was pretty well used to +misery in all its shapes. “Nonsense!” +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you,” said the man: clenching his hands, and stamping furiously on the +floor,—“I tell you I won’t have her put into the ground. She couldn’t rest +there. The worms would worry her—not eat her—she is so worn away.” +</p> + +<p> +The undertaker offered no reply to this raving; but producing a tape from his +pocket, knelt down for a moment by the side of the body. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said the man: bursting into tears, and sinking on his knees at the feet +of the dead woman; “kneel down, kneel down—kneel round her, every one of you, +and mark my words! I say she was starved to death. I never knew how bad she +was, till the fever came upon her; and then her bones were starting through the +skin. There was neither fire nor candle; she died in the dark—in the dark! She +couldn’t even see her children’s faces, though we heard her gasping out their +names. I begged for her in the streets: and they sent me to prison. When I came +back, she was dying; and all the blood in my heart has dried up, for they +starved her to death. I swear it before the God that saw it! They starved her!” +He twined his hands in his hair; and, with a loud scream, rolled grovelling +upon the floor: his eyes fixed, and the foam covering his lips. +</p> + +<p> +The terrified children cried bitterly; but the old woman, who had hitherto +remained as quiet as if she had been wholly deaf to all that passed, menaced +them into silence. Having unloosened the cravat of the man who still remained +extended on the ground, she tottered towards the undertaker. +</p> + +<p> +“She was my daughter,” said the old woman, nodding her head in the direction of +the corpse; and speaking with an idiotic leer, more ghastly than even the +presence of death in such a place. “Lord, Lord! Well, it <i>is</i> strange that +I who gave birth to her, and was a woman then, should be alive and merry now, +and she lying there: so cold and stiff! Lord, Lord!—to think of it; it’s as +good as a play—as good as a play!” +</p> + +<p> +As the wretched creature mumbled and chuckled in her hideous merriment, the +undertaker turned to go away. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop, stop!” said the old woman in a loud whisper. “Will she be buried +tomorrow, or next day, or tonight? I laid her out; and I must walk, you know. +Send me a large cloak: a good warm one: for it is bitter cold. We should have +cake and wine, too, before we go! Never mind; send some bread—only a loaf of +bread and a cup of water. Shall we have some bread, dear?” she said eagerly: +catching at the undertaker’s coat, as he once more moved towards the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes,” said the undertaker, “of course. Anything you like!” He disengaged +himself from the old woman’s grasp; and, drawing Oliver after him, hurried +away. +</p> + +<p> +The next day, (the family having been meanwhile relieved with a half-quartern +loaf and a piece of cheese, left with them by Mr. Bumble himself,) Oliver and +his master returned to the miserable abode; where Mr. Bumble had already +arrived, accompanied by four men from the workhouse, who were to act as +bearers. An old black cloak had been thrown over the rags of the old woman and +the man; and the bare coffin having been screwed down, was hoisted on the +shoulders of the bearers, and carried into the street. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, you must put your best leg foremost, old lady!” whispered Sowerberry in +the old woman’s ear; “we are rather late; and it won’t do, to keep the +clergyman waiting. Move on, my men,—as quick as you like!” +</p> + +<p> +Thus directed, the bearers trotted on under their light burden; and the two +mourners kept as near them, as they could. Mr. Bumble and Sowerberry walked at +a good smart pace in front; and Oliver, whose legs were not so long as his +master’s, ran by the side. +</p> + +<p> +There was not so great a necessity for hurrying as Mr. Sowerberry had +anticipated, however; for when they reached the obscure corner of the +churchyard in which the nettles grew, and where the parish graves were made, +the clergyman had not arrived; and the clerk, who was sitting by the +vestry-room fire, seemed to think it by no means improbable that it might be an +hour or so, before he came. So, they put the bier on the brink of the grave; +and the two mourners waited patiently in the damp clay, with a cold rain +drizzling down, while the ragged boys whom the spectacle had attracted into the +churchyard played a noisy game at hide-and-seek among the tombstones, or varied +their amusements by jumping backwards and forwards over the coffin. Mr. +Sowerberry and Bumble, being personal friends of the clerk, sat by the fire +with him, and read the paper. +</p> + +<p> +At length, after a lapse of something more than an hour, Mr. Bumble, and +Sowerberry, and the clerk, were seen running towards the grave. Immediately +afterwards, the clergyman appeared: putting on his surplice as he came along. +Mr. Bumble then thrashed a boy or two, to keep up appearances; and the reverend +gentleman, having read as much of the burial service as could be compressed +into four minutes, gave his surplice to the clerk, and walked away again. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Bill!” said Sowerberry to the grave-digger. “Fill up!” +</p> + +<p> +It was no very difficult task, for the grave was so full, that the uppermost +coffin was within a few feet of the surface. The grave-digger shovelled in the +earth; stamped it loosely down with his feet: shouldered his spade; and walked +off, followed by the boys, who murmured very loud complaints at the fun being +over so soon. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, my good fellow!” said Bumble, tapping the man on the back. “They want to +shut up the yard.” +</p> + +<p> +The man who had never once moved, since he had taken his station by the grave +side, started, raised his head, stared at the person who had addressed him, +walked forward for a few paces; and fell down in a swoon. The crazy old woman +was too much occupied in bewailing the loss of her cloak (which the undertaker +had taken off), to pay him any attention; so they threw a can of cold water +over him; and when he came to, saw him safely out of the churchyard, locked the +gate, and departed on their different ways. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Oliver,” said Sowerberry, as they walked home, “how do you like it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Pretty well, thank you, sir” replied Oliver, with considerable hesitation. +“Not very much, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, you’ll get used to it in time, Oliver,” said Sowerberry. “Nothing when you +<i>are</i> used to it, my boy.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver wondered, in his own mind, whether it had taken a very long time to get +Mr. Sowerberry used to it. But he thought it better not to ask the question; +and walked back to the shop: thinking over all he had seen and heard. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a> CHAPTER VI.<br/> +OLIVER, BEING GOADED BY THE TAUNTS OF NOAH, ROUSES INTO ACTION, AND RATHER +ASTONISHES HIM</h2> + +<p> +The month’s trial over, Oliver was formally apprenticed. It was a nice sickly +season just at this time. In commercial phrase, coffins were looking up; and, +in the course of a few weeks, Oliver acquired a great deal of experience. The +success of Mr. Sowerberry’s ingenious speculation, exceeded even his most +sanguine hopes. The oldest inhabitants recollected no period at which measles +had been so prevalent, or so fatal to infant existence; and many were the +mournful processions which little Oliver headed, in a hat-band reaching down to +his knees, to the indescribable admiration and emotion of all the mothers in +the town. As Oliver accompanied his master in most of his adult expeditions +too, in order that he might acquire that equanimity of demeanour and full +command of nerve which was essential to a finished undertaker, he had many +opportunities of observing the beautiful resignation and fortitude with which +some strong-minded people bear their trials and losses. +</p> + +<p> +For instance; when Sowerberry had an order for the burial of some rich old lady +or gentleman, who was surrounded by a great number of nephews and nieces, who +had been perfectly inconsolable during the previous illness, and whose grief +had been wholly irrepressible even on the most public occasions, they would be +as happy among themselves as need be—quite cheerful and contented—conversing +together with as much freedom and gaiety, as if nothing whatever had happened +to disturb them. Husbands, too, bore the loss of their wives with the most +heroic calmness. Wives, again, put on weeds for their husbands, as if, so far +from grieving in the garb of sorrow, they had made up their minds to render it +as becoming and attractive as possible. It was observable, too, that ladies and +gentlemen who were in passions of anguish during the ceremony of interment, +recovered almost as soon as they reached home, and became quite composed before +the tea-drinking was over. All this was very pleasant and improving to see; and +Oliver beheld it with great admiration. +</p> + +<p> +That Oliver Twist was moved to resignation by the example of these good people, +I cannot, although I am his biographer, undertake to affirm with any degree of +confidence; but I can most distinctly say, that for many months he continued +meekly to submit to the domination and ill-treatment of Noah Claypole: who used +him far worse than before, now that his jealousy was roused by seeing the new +boy promoted to the black stick and hat-band, while he, the old one, remained +stationary in the muffin-cap and leathers. Charlotte treated him ill, because +Noah did; and Mrs. Sowerberry was his decided enemy, because Mr. Sowerberry was +disposed to be his friend; so, between these three on one side, and a glut of +funerals on the other, Oliver was not altogether as comfortable as the hungry +pig was, when he was shut up, by mistake, in the grain department of a brewery. +</p> + +<p> +And now, I come to a very important passage in Oliver’s history; for I have to +record an act, slight and unimportant perhaps in appearance, but which +indirectly produced a material change in all his future prospects and +proceedings. +</p> + +<p> +One day, Oliver and Noah had descended into the kitchen at the usual +dinner-hour, to banquet upon a small joint of mutton—a pound and a half of the +worst end of the neck; when Charlotte being called out of the way, there ensued +a brief interval of time, which Noah Claypole, being hungry and vicious, +considered he could not possibly devote to a worthier purpose than aggravating +and tantalising young Oliver Twist. +</p> + +<p> +Intent upon this innocent amusement, Noah put his feet on the table-cloth; and +pulled Oliver’s hair; and twitched his ears; and expressed his opinion that he +was a “sneak”; and furthermore announced his intention of coming to see him +hanged, whenever that desirable event should take place; and entered upon +various topics of petty annoyance, like a malicious and ill-conditioned +charity-boy as he was. But, making Oliver cry, Noah attempted to be more +facetious still; and in his attempt, did what many sometimes do to this day, +when they want to be funny. He got rather personal. +</p> + +<p> +“Work’us,” said Noah, “how’s your mother?” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s dead,” replied Oliver; “don’t you say anything about her to me!” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver’s colour rose as he said this; he breathed quickly; and there was a +curious working of the mouth and nostrils, which Mr. Claypole thought must be +the immediate precursor of a violent fit of crying. Under this impression he +returned to the charge. +</p> + +<p> +“What did she die of, Work’us?” said Noah. +</p> + +<p> +“Of a broken heart, some of our old nurses told me,” replied Oliver: more as if +he were talking to himself, than answering Noah. “I think I know what it must +be to die of that!” +</p> + +<p> +“Tol de rol lol lol, right fol lairy, Work’us,” said Noah, as a tear rolled +down Oliver’s cheek. “What’s set you a snivelling now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not <i>you</i>,” replied Oliver, sharply. “There; that’s enough. Don’t say +anything more to me about her; you’d better not!” +</p> + +<p> +“Better not!” exclaimed Noah. “Well! Better not! Work’us, don’t be impudent. +<i>Your</i> mother, too! She was a nice ’un, she was. Oh, Lor!” And here, Noah +nodded his head expressively; and curled up as much of his small red nose as +muscular action could collect together, for the occasion. +</p> + +<p> +“Yer know, Work’us,” continued Noah, emboldened by Oliver’s silence, and +speaking in a jeering tone of affected pity: of all tones the most annoying: +“Yer know, Work’us, it can’t be helped now; and of course yer couldn’t help it +then; and I am very sorry for it; and I’m sure we all are, and pity yer very +much. But yer must know, Work’us, yer mother was a regular right-down bad ’un.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did you say?” inquired Oliver, looking up very quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“A regular right-down bad ’un, Work’us,” replied Noah, coolly. “And it’s a +great deal better, Work’us, that she died when she did, or else she’d have been +hard labouring in Bridewell, or transported, or hung; which is more likely than +either, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +Crimson with fury, Oliver started up; overthrew the chair and table; seized +Noah by the throat; shook him, in the violence of his rage, till his teeth +chattered in his head; and collecting his whole force into one heavy blow, +felled him to the ground. +</p> + +<p> +A minute ago, the boy had looked the quiet child, mild, dejected creature that +harsh treatment had made him. But his spirit was roused at last; the cruel +insult to his dead mother had set his blood on fire. His breast heaved; his +attitude was erect; his eye bright and vivid; his whole person changed, as he +stood glaring over the cowardly tormentor who now lay crouching at his feet; +and defied him with an energy he had never known before. +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll murder me!” blubbered Noah. “Charlotte! missis! Here’s the new boy a +murdering of me! Help! help! Oliver’s gone mad! Char—lotte!” +</p> + +<p> +Noah’s shouts were responded to, by a loud scream from Charlotte, and a louder +from Mrs. Sowerberry; the former of whom rushed into the kitchen by a +side-door, while the latter paused on the staircase till she was quite certain +that it was consistent with the preservation of human life, to come further +down. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you little wretch!” screamed Charlotte: seizing Oliver with her utmost +force, which was about equal to that of a moderately strong man in particularly +good training. “Oh, you little un-grate-ful, mur-de-rous, hor-rid villain!” And +between every syllable, Charlotte gave Oliver a blow with all her might: +accompanying it with a scream, for the benefit of society. +</p> + +<p> +Charlotte’s fist was by no means a light one; but, lest it should not be +effectual in calming Oliver’s wrath, Mrs. Sowerberry plunged into the kitchen, +and assisted to hold him with one hand, while she scratched his face with the +other. In this favourable position of affairs, Noah rose from the ground, and +pommelled him behind. +</p> + +<p> +This was rather too violent exercise to last long. When they were all wearied +out, and could tear and beat no longer, they dragged Oliver, struggling and +shouting, but nothing daunted, into the dust-cellar, and there locked him up. +This being done, Mrs. Sowerberry sunk into a chair, and burst into tears. +</p> + +<p> +“Bless her, she’s going off!” said Charlotte. “A glass of water, Noah, dear. +Make haste!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Charlotte,” said Mrs. Sowerberry: speaking as well as she could, through a +deficiency of breath, and a sufficiency of cold water, which Noah had poured +over her head and shoulders. “Oh! Charlotte, what a mercy we have not all been +murdered in our beds!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! mercy indeed, ma’am,” was the reply. “I only hope this’ll teach master not +to have any more of these dreadful creatures, that are born to be murderers and +robbers from their very cradle. Poor Noah! He was all but killed, ma’am, when I +came in.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor fellow!” said Mrs. Sowerberry, looking piteously on the charity-boy. +</p> + +<p> +Noah, whose top waistcoat-button might have been somewhere on a level with the +crown of Oliver’s head, rubbed his eyes with the inside of his wrists while +this commiseration was bestowed upon him, and performed some affecting tears +and sniffs. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s to be done!” exclaimed Mrs. Sowerberry. “Your master’s not at home; +there’s not a man in the house, and he’ll kick that door down in ten minutes.” +Oliver’s vigorous plunges against the bit of timber in question, rendered this +occurance highly probable. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear, dear! I don’t know, ma’am,” said Charlotte, “unless we send for the +police-officers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Or the millingtary,” suggested Mr. Claypole. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” said Mrs. Sowerberry: bethinking herself of Oliver’s old friend. “Run +to Mr. Bumble, Noah, and tell him to come here directly, and not to lose a +minute; never mind your cap! Make haste! You can hold a knife to that black +eye, as you run along. It’ll keep the swelling down.” +</p> + +<p> +Noah stopped to make no reply, but started off at his fullest speed; and very +much it astonished the people who were out walking, to see a charity-boy +tearing through the streets pell-mell, with no cap on his head, and a +clasp-knife at his eye. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a> CHAPTER VII.<br/> +OLIVER CONTINUES REFRACTORY</h2> + +<p> +Noah Claypole ran along the streets at his swiftest pace, and paused not once +for breath, until he reached the workhouse-gate. Having rested here, for a +minute or so, to collect a good burst of sobs and an imposing show of tears and +terror, he knocked loudly at the wicket; and presented such a rueful face to +the aged pauper who opened it, that even he, who saw nothing but rueful faces +about him at the best of times, started back in astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, what’s the matter with the boy!” said the old pauper. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Bumble! Mr. Bumble!” cried Noah, with well-affected dismay, and in tones +so loud and agitated, that they not only caught the ear of Mr. Bumble himself, +who happened to be hard by, but alarmed him so much that he rushed into the +yard without his cocked hat,—which is a very curious and remarkable +circumstance, as showing that even a beadle, acted upon a sudden and powerful +impulse, may be afflicted with a momentary visitation of loss of +self-possession, and forgetfulness of personal dignity. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mr. Bumble, sir!” said Noah: “Oliver, sir,—Oliver has—” +</p> + +<p> +“What? What?” interposed Mr. Bumble: with a gleam of pleasure in his metallic +eyes. “Not run away; he hasn’t run away, has he, Noah?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir, no. Not run away, sir, but he’s turned wicious,” replied Noah. “He +tried to murder me, sir; and then he tried to murder Charlotte; and then +missis. Oh! what dreadful pain it is! Such agony, please, sir!” And here, Noah +writhed and twisted his body into an extensive variety of eel-like positions; +thereby giving Mr. Bumble to understand that, from the violent and sanguinary +onset of Oliver Twist, he had sustained severe internal injury and damage, from +which he was at that moment suffering the acutest torture. +</p> + +<p> +When Noah saw that the intelligence he communicated perfectly paralysed Mr. +Bumble, he imparted additional effect thereunto, by bewailing his dreadful +wounds ten times louder than before; and when he observed a gentleman in a +white waistcoat crossing the yard, he was more tragic in his lamentations than +ever: rightly conceiving it highly expedient to attract the notice, and rouse +the indignation, of the gentleman aforesaid. +</p> + +<p> +The gentleman’s notice was very soon attracted; for he had not walked three +paces, when he turned angrily round, and inquired what that young cur was +howling for, and why Mr. Bumble did not favour him with something which would +render the series of vocular exclamations so designated, an involuntary +process? +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a poor boy from the free-school, sir,” replied Mr. Bumble, “who has been +nearly murdered—all but murdered, sir,—by young Twist.” +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove!” exclaimed the gentleman in the white waistcoat, stopping short. “I +knew it! I felt a strange presentiment from the very first, that that audacious +young savage would come to be hung!” +</p> + +<p> +“He has likewise attempted, sir, to murder the female servant,” said Mr. +Bumble, with a face of ashy paleness. +</p> + +<p> +“And his missis,” interposed Mr. Claypole. +</p> + +<p> +“And his master, too, I think you said, Noah?” added Mr. Bumble. +</p> + +<p> +“No! he’s out, or he would have murdered him,” replied Noah. “He said he wanted +to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! Said he wanted to, did he, my boy?” inquired the gentleman in the white +waistcoat. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” replied Noah. “And please, sir, missis wants to know whether Mr. +Bumble can spare time to step up there, directly, and flog him—’cause master’s +out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly, my boy; certainly,” said the gentleman in the white waistcoat: +smiling benignly, and patting Noah’s head, which was about three inches higher +than his own. “You’re a good boy—a very good boy. Here’s a penny for you. +Bumble, just step up to Sowerberry’s with your cane, and see what’s best to be +done. Don’t spare him, Bumble.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I will not, sir,” replied the beadle. And the cocked hat and cane having +been, by this time, adjusted to their owner’s satisfaction, Mr. Bumble and Noah +Claypole betook themselves with all speed to the undertaker’s shop. +</p> + +<p> +Here the position of affairs had not at all improved. Sowerberry had not yet +returned, and Oliver continued to kick, with undiminished vigour, at the +cellar-door. The accounts of his ferocity as related by Mrs. Sowerberry and +Charlotte, were of so startling a nature, that Mr. Bumble judged it prudent to +parley, before opening the door. With this view he gave a kick at the outside, +by way of prelude; and, then, applying his mouth to the keyhole, said, in a +deep and impressive tone: +</p> + +<p> +“Oliver!” +</p> + +<p> +“Come; you let me out!” replied Oliver, from the inside. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know this here voice, Oliver?” said Mr. Bumble. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t you afraid of it, sir? Ain’t you a-trembling while I speak, sir?” said +Mr. Bumble. +</p> + +<p> +“No!” replied Oliver, boldly. +</p> + +<p> +An answer so different from the one he had expected to elicit, and was in the +habit of receiving, staggered Mr. Bumble not a little. He stepped back from the +keyhole; drew himself up to his full height; and looked from one to another of +the three by-standers, in mute astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you know, Mr. Bumble, he must be mad,” said Mrs. Sowerberry. +</p> + +<p> +“No boy in half his senses could venture to speak so to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not madness, ma’am,” replied Mr. Bumble, after a few moments of deep +meditation. “It’s meat.” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” exclaimed Mrs. Sowerberry. +</p> + +<p> +“Meat, ma’am, meat,” replied Bumble, with stern emphasis. “You’ve overfed him, +ma’am. You’ve raised a artificial soul and spirit in him, ma’am unbecoming a +person of his condition: as the board, Mrs. Sowerberry, who are practical +philosophers, will tell you. What have paupers to do with soul or spirit? It’s +quite enough that we let ’em have live bodies. If you had kept the boy on +gruel, ma’am, this would never have happened.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear, dear!” ejaculated Mrs. Sowerberry, piously raising her eyes to the +kitchen ceiling: “this comes of being liberal!” +</p> + +<p> +The liberality of Mrs. Sowerberry to Oliver, had consisted of a profuse +bestowal upon him of all the dirty odds and ends which nobody else would eat; +so there was a great deal of meekness and self-devotion in her voluntarily +remaining under Mr. Bumble’s heavy accusation, of which, to do her justice, she +was wholly innocent, in thought, word, or deed. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Mr. Bumble, when the lady brought her eyes down to earth again; “the +only thing that can be done now, that I know of, is to leave him in the cellar +for a day or so, till he’s a little starved down; and then to take him out, and +keep him on gruel all through the apprenticeship. He comes of a bad family. +Excitable natures, Mrs. Sowerberry! Both the nurse and doctor said, that that +mother of his made her way here, against difficulties and pain that would have +killed any well-disposed woman, weeks before.” +</p> + +<p> +At this point of Mr. Bumble’s discourse, Oliver, just hearing enough to know +that some allusion was being made to his mother, recommenced kicking, with a +violence that rendered every other sound inaudible. Sowerberry returned at this +juncture. Oliver’s offence having been explained to him, with such +exaggerations as the ladies thought best calculated to rouse his ire, he +unlocked the cellar-door in a twinkling, and dragged his rebellious apprentice +out, by the collar. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver’s clothes had been torn in the beating he had received; his face was +bruised and scratched; and his hair scattered over his forehead. The angry +flush had not disappeared, however; and when he was pulled out of his prison, +he scowled boldly on Noah, and looked quite undismayed. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, you are a nice young fellow, ain’t you?” said Sowerberry; giving Oliver a +shake, and a box on the ear. +</p> + +<p> +“He called my mother names,” replied Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, and what if he did, you little ungrateful wretch?” said Mrs. Sowerberry. +“She deserved what he said, and worse.” +</p> + +<p> +“She didn’t,” said Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“She did,” said Mrs. Sowerberry. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a lie!” said Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sowerberry burst into a flood of tears. +</p> + +<p> +This flood of tears left Mr. Sowerberry no alternative. If he had hesitated for +one instant to punish Oliver most severely, it must be quite clear to every +experienced reader that he would have been, according to all precedents in +disputes of matrimony established, a brute, an unnatural husband, an insulting +creature, a base imitation of a man, and various other agreeable characters too +numerous for recital within the limits of this chapter. To do him justice, he +was, as far as his power went—it was not very extensive—kindly disposed towards +the boy; perhaps, because it was his interest to be so; perhaps, because his +wife disliked him. The flood of tears, however, left him no resource; so he at +once gave him a drubbing, which satisfied even Mrs. Sowerberry herself, and +rendered Mr. Bumble’s subsequent application of the parochial cane, rather +unnecessary. For the rest of the day, he was shut up in the back kitchen, in +company with a pump and a slice of bread; and at night, Mrs. Sowerberry, after +making various remarks outside the door, by no means complimentary to the +memory of his mother, looked into the room, and, amidst the jeers and pointings +of Noah and Charlotte, ordered him upstairs to his dismal bed. +</p> + +<p> +It was not until he was left alone in the silence and stillness of the gloomy +workshop of the undertaker, that Oliver gave way to the feelings which the +day’s treatment may be supposed likely to have awakened in a mere child. He had +listened to their taunts with a look of contempt; he had borne the lash without +a cry: for he felt that pride swelling in his heart which would have kept down +a shriek to the last, though they had roasted him alive. But now, when there +were none to see or hear him, he fell upon his knees on the floor; and, hiding +his face in his hands, wept such tears as, God send for the credit of our +nature, few so young may ever have cause to pour out before him! +</p> + +<p> +For a long time, Oliver remained motionless in this attitude. The candle was +burning low in the socket when he rose to his feet. Having gazed cautiously +round him, and listened intently, he gently undid the fastenings of the door, +and looked abroad. +</p> + +<p> +It was a cold, dark night. The stars seemed, to the boy’s eyes, farther from +the earth than he had ever seen them before; there was no wind; and the sombre +shadows thrown by the trees upon the ground, looked sepulchral and death-like, +from being so still. He softly reclosed the door. Having availed himself of the +expiring light of the candle to tie up in a handkerchief the few articles of +wearing apparel he had, sat himself down upon a bench, to wait for morning. +</p> + +<p> +With the first ray of light that struggled through the crevices in the +shutters, Oliver arose, and again unbarred the door. One timid look around—one +moment’s pause of hesitation—he had closed it behind him, and was in the open +street. +</p> + +<p> +He looked to the right and to the left, uncertain whither to fly. +</p> + +<p> +He remembered to have seen the waggons, as they went out, toiling up the hill. +He took the same route; and arriving at a footpath across the fields, which he +knew, after some distance, led out again into the road; struck into it, and +walked quickly on. +</p> + +<p> +Along this same footpath, Oliver well-remembered he had trotted beside Mr. +Bumble, when he first carried him to the workhouse from the farm. His way lay +directly in front of the cottage. His heart beat quickly when he bethought +himself of this; and he half resolved to turn back. He had come a long way +though, and should lose a great deal of time by doing so. Besides, it was so +early that there was very little fear of his being seen; so he walked on. +</p> + +<p> +He reached the house. There was no appearance of its inmates stirring at that +early hour. Oliver stopped, and peeped into the garden. A child was weeding one +of the little beds; as he stopped, he raised his pale face and disclosed the +features of one of his former companions. Oliver felt glad to see him, before +he went; for, though younger than himself, he had been his little friend and +playmate. They had been beaten, and starved, and shut up together, many and +many a time. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush, Dick!” said Oliver, as the boy ran to the gate, and thrust his thin arm +between the rails to greet him. “Is any one up?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody but me,” replied the child. +</p> + +<p> +“You musn’t say you saw me, Dick,” said Oliver. “I am running away. They beat +and ill-use me, Dick; and I am going to seek my fortune, some long way off. I +don’t know where. How pale you are!” +</p> + +<p> +“I heard the doctor tell them I was dying,” replied the child with a faint +smile. “I am very glad to see you, dear; but don’t stop, don’t stop!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, I will, to say good-b’ye to you,” replied Oliver. “I shall see you +again, Dick. I know I shall! You will be well and happy!” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so,” replied the child. “After I am dead, but not before. I know the +doctor must be right, Oliver, because I dream so much of Heaven, and Angels, +and kind faces that I never see when I am awake. Kiss me,” said the child, +climbing up the low gate, and flinging his little arms round Oliver’s neck. +“Good-b’ye, dear! God bless you!” +</p> + +<p> +The blessing was from a young child’s lips, but it was the first that Oliver +had ever heard invoked upon his head; and through the struggles and sufferings, +and troubles and changes, of his after life, he never once forgot it. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a> CHAPTER VIII.<br/> +OLIVER WALKS TO LONDON. HE ENCOUNTERS ON THE ROAD A STRANGE SORT OF YOUNG +GENTLEMAN</h2> + +<p> +Oliver reached the stile at which the by-path terminated; and once more gained +the high-road. It was eight o’clock now. Though he was nearly five miles away +from the town, he ran, and hid behind the hedges, by turns, till noon, fearing +that he might be pursued and overtaken. Then he sat down to rest by the side of +the milestone, and began to think, for the first time, where he had better go +and try to live. +</p> + +<p> +The stone by which he was seated, bore, in large characters, an intimation that +it was just seventy miles from that spot to London. The name awakened a new +train of ideas in the boy’s mind. +</p> + +<p> +London!—that great place!—nobody—not even Mr. Bumble—could ever find him there! +He had often heard the old men in the workhouse, too, say that no lad of spirit +need want in London; and that there were ways of living in that vast city, +which those who had been bred up in country parts had no idea of. It was the +very place for a homeless boy, who must die in the streets unless some one +helped him. As these things passed through his thoughts, he jumped upon his +feet, and again walked forward. +</p> + +<p> +He had diminished the distance between himself and London by full four miles +more, before he recollected how much he must undergo ere he could hope to reach +his place of destination. As this consideration forced itself upon him, he +slackened his pace a little, and meditated upon his means of getting there. He +had a crust of bread, a coarse shirt, and two pairs of stockings, in his +bundle. He had a penny too—a gift of Sowerberry’s after some funeral in which +he had acquitted himself more than ordinarily well—in his pocket. “A clean +shirt,” thought Oliver, “is a very comfortable thing; and so are two pairs of +darned stockings; and so is a penny; but they are small helps to a sixty-five +miles’ walk in winter time.” But Oliver’s thoughts, like those of most other +people, although they were extremely ready and active to point out his +difficulties, were wholly at a loss to suggest any feasible mode of surmounting +them; so, after a good deal of thinking to no particular purpose, he changed +his little bundle over to the other shoulder, and trudged on. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver walked twenty miles that day; and all that time tasted nothing but the +crust of dry bread, and a few draughts of water, which he begged at the +cottage-doors by the road-side. When the night came, he turned into a meadow; +and, creeping close under a hay-rick, determined to lie there, till morning. He +felt frightened at first, for the wind moaned dismally over the empty fields, +and he was cold and hungry, and more alone than he had ever felt before. Being +very tired with his walk, however, he soon fell asleep and forgot his troubles. +</p> + +<p> +He felt cold and stiff, when he got up next morning, and so hungry that he was +obliged to exchange the penny for a small loaf, in the very first village +through which he passed. He had walked no more than twelve miles, when night +closed in again. His feet were sore, and his legs so weak that they trembled +beneath him. Another night passed in the bleak damp air, made him worse; when +he set forward on his journey next morning he could hardly crawl along. +</p> + +<p> +He waited at the bottom of a steep hill till a stage-coach came up, and then +begged of the outside passengers; but there were very few who took any notice +of him: and even those told him to wait till they got to the top of the hill, +and then let them see how far he could run for a halfpenny. Poor Oliver tried +to keep up with the coach a little way, but was unable to do it, by reason of +his fatigue and sore feet. When the outsides saw this, they put their halfpence +back into their pockets again, declaring that he was an idle young dog, and +didn’t deserve anything; and the coach rattled away and left only a cloud of +dust behind. +</p> + +<p> +In some villages, large painted boards were fixed up: warning all persons who +begged within the district, that they would be sent to jail. This frightened +Oliver very much, and made him glad to get out of those villages with all +possible expedition. In others, he would stand about the inn-yards, and look +mournfully at every one who passed: a proceeding which generally terminated in +the landlady’s ordering one of the post-boys who were lounging about, to drive +that strange boy out of the place, for she was sure he had come to steal +something. If he begged at a farmer’s house, ten to one but they threatened to +set the dog on him; and when he showed his nose in a shop, they talked about +the beadle—which brought Oliver’s heart into his mouth,—very often the only +thing he had there, for many hours together. +</p> + +<p> +In fact, if it had not been for a good-hearted turnpike-man, and a benevolent +old lady, Oliver’s troubles would have been shortened by the very same process +which had put an end to his mother’s; in other words, he would most assuredly +have fallen dead upon the king’s highway. But the turnpike-man gave him a meal +of bread and cheese; and the old lady, who had a shipwrecked grandson wandering +barefoot in some distant part of the earth, took pity upon the poor orphan, and +gave him what little she could afford—and more—with such kind and gentle words, +and such tears of sympathy and compassion, that they sank deeper into Oliver’s +soul, than all the sufferings he had ever undergone. +</p> + +<p> +Early on the seventh morning after he had left his native place, Oliver limped +slowly into the little town of Barnet. The window-shutters were closed; the +street was empty; not a soul had awakened to the business of the day. The sun +was rising in all its splendid beauty; but the light only served to show the +boy his own lonesomeness and desolation, as he sat, with bleeding feet and +covered with dust, upon a door-step. +</p> + +<p> +By degrees, the shutters were opened; the window-blinds were drawn up; and +people began passing to and fro. Some few stopped to gaze at Oliver for a +moment or two, or turned round to stare at him as they hurried by; but none +relieved him, or troubled themselves to inquire how he came there. He had no +heart to beg. And there he sat. +</p> + +<p> +He had been crouching on the step for some time: wondering at the great number +of public-houses (every other house in Barnet was a tavern, large or small), +gazing listlessly at the coaches as they passed through, and thinking how +strange it seemed that they could do, with ease, in a few hours, what it had +taken him a whole week of courage and determination beyond his years to +accomplish: when he was roused by observing that a boy, who had passed him +carelessly some minutes before, had returned, and was now surveying him most +earnestly from the opposite side of the way. He took little heed of this at +first; but the boy remained in the same attitude of close observation so long, +that Oliver raised his head, and returned his steady look. Upon this, the boy +crossed over; and walking close up to Oliver, said, +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo, my covey! What’s the row?” +</p> + +<p> +The boy who addressed this inquiry to the young wayfarer, was about his own +age: but one of the queerest looking boys that Oliver had even seen. He was a +snub-nosed, flat-browed, common-faced boy enough; and as dirty a juvenile as +one would wish to see; but he had about him all the airs and manners of a man. +He was short of his age: with rather bow-legs, and little, sharp, ugly eyes. +His hat was stuck on the top of his head so lightly, that it threatened to fall +off every moment—and would have done so, very often, if the wearer had not had +a knack of every now and then giving his head a sudden twitch, which brought it +back to its old place again. He wore a man’s coat, which reached nearly to his +heels. He had turned the cuffs back, half-way up his arm, to get his hands out +of the sleeves: apparently with the ultimate view of thrusting them into the +pockets of his corduroy trousers; for there he kept them. He was, altogether, +as roystering and swaggering a young gentleman as ever stood four feet six, or +something less, in the bluchers. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo, my covey! What’s the row?” said this strange young gentleman to Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“I am very hungry and tired,” replied Oliver: the tears standing in his eyes as +he spoke. “I have walked a long way. I have been walking these seven days.” +</p> + +<p> +“Walking for sivin days!” said the young gentleman. “Oh, I see. Beak’s order, +eh? But,” he added, noticing Oliver’s look of surprise, “I suppose you don’t +know what a beak is, my flash com-pan-i-on.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver mildly replied, that he had always heard a bird’s mouth described by the +term in question. +</p> + +<p> +“My eyes, how green!” exclaimed the young gentleman. “Why, a beak’s a +madgst’rate; and when you walk by a beak’s order, it’s not straight forerd, but +always agoing up, and niver a coming down agin. Was you never on the mill?” +</p> + +<p> +“What mill?” inquired Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“What mill! Why, <i>the</i> mill—the mill as takes up so little room that it’ll +work inside a Stone Jug; and always goes better when the wind’s low with +people, than when it’s high; acos then they can’t get workmen. But come,” said +the young gentleman; “you want grub, and you shall have it. I’m at +low-water-mark myself—only one bob and a magpie; but, as far as it goes, I’ll +fork out and stump. Up with you on your pins. There! Now then! Morrice!” +</p> + +<p> +Assisting Oliver to rise, the young gentleman took him to an adjacent +chandler’s shop, where he purchased a sufficiency of ready-dressed ham and a +half-quartern loaf, or, as he himself expressed it, “a fourpenny bran!” the ham +being kept clean and preserved from dust, by the ingenious expedient of making +a hole in the loaf by pulling out a portion of the crumb, and stuffing it +therein. Taking the bread under his arm, the young gentleman turned into a small +public-house, and led the way to a tap-room in the rear of the premises. Here, +a pot of beer was brought in, by direction of the mysterious youth; and Oliver, +falling to, at his new friend’s bidding, made a long and hearty meal, during +the progress of which the strange boy eyed him from time to time with great +attention. +</p> + +<p> +“Going to London?” said the strange boy, when Oliver had at length concluded. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Got any lodgings?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Money?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +The strange boy whistled; and put his arms into his pockets, as far as the big +coat-sleeves would let them go. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you live in London?” inquired Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I do, when I’m at home,” replied the boy. “I suppose you want some place +to sleep in tonight, don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do, indeed,” answered Oliver. “I have not slept under a roof since I left +the country.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t fret your eyelids on that score,” said the young gentleman. “I’ve got to +be in London tonight; and I know a ’spectable old gentleman as lives there, +wot’ll give you lodgings for nothink, and never ask for the change—that is, if +any gentleman he knows interduces you. And don’t he know me? Oh, no! Not in the +least! By no means. Certainly not!” +</p> + +<p> +The young gentleman smiled, as if to intimate that the latter fragments of +discourse were playfully ironical; and finished the beer as he did so. +</p> + +<p> +This unexpected offer of shelter was too tempting to be resisted; especially as +it was immediately followed up, by the assurance that the old gentleman +referred to, would doubtless provide Oliver with a comfortable place, without +loss of time. This led to a more friendly and confidential dialogue; from which +Oliver discovered that his friend’s name was Jack Dawkins, and that he was a +peculiar pet and <i>protégé</i> of the elderly gentleman before mentioned. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Dawkins’s appearance did not say a vast deal in favour of the comforts +which his patron’s interest obtained for those whom he took under his +protection; but, as he had a rather flightly and dissolute mode of conversing, +and furthermore avowed that among his intimate friends he was better known by +the <i>sobriquet</i> of “The Artful Dodger,” Oliver concluded that, being of a +dissipated and careless turn, the moral precepts of his benefactor had hitherto +been thrown away upon him. Under this impression, he secretly resolved to +cultivate the good opinion of the old gentleman as quickly as possible; and, if +he found the Dodger incorrigible, as he more than half suspected he should, to +decline the honour of his farther acquaintance. +</p> + +<p> +As John Dawkins objected to their entering London before nightfall, it was +nearly eleven o’clock when they reached the turnpike at Islington. They crossed +from the Angel into St. John’s Road; struck down the small street which +terminates at Sadler’s Wells Theatre; through Exmouth Street and Coppice Row; +down the little court by the side of the workhouse; across the classic ground +which once bore the name of Hockley-in-the-Hole; thence into Little Saffron +Hill; and so into Saffron Hill the Great: along which the Dodger scudded at a +rapid pace, directing Oliver to follow close at his heels. +</p> + +<p> +Although Oliver had enough to occupy his attention in keeping sight of his +leader, he could not help bestowing a few hasty glances on either side of the +way, as he passed along. A dirtier or more wretched place he had never seen. +The street was very narrow and muddy, and the air was impregnated with filthy +odours. +</p> + +<p> +There were a good many small shops; but the only stock in trade appeared to be +heaps of children, who, even at that time of night, were crawling in and out at +the doors, or screaming from the inside. The sole places that seemed to prosper +amid the general blight of the place, were the public-houses; and in them, the +lowest orders of Irish were wrangling with might and main. Covered ways and +yards, which here and there diverged from the main street, disclosed little +knots of houses, where drunken men and women were positively wallowing in +filth; and from several of the door-ways, great ill-looking fellows were +cautiously emerging, bound, to all appearance, on no very well-disposed or +harmless errands. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver was just considering whether he hadn’t better run away, when they +reached the bottom of the hill. His conductor, catching him by the arm, pushed +open the door of a house near Field Lane; and drawing him into the passage, +closed it behind them. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, then!” cried a voice from below, in reply to a whistle from the Dodger. +</p> + +<p> +“Plummy and slam!” was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +This seemed to be some watchword or signal that all was right; for the light of +a feeble candle gleamed on the wall at the remote end of the passage; and a +man’s face peeped out, from where a balustrade of the old kitchen staircase had +been broken away. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s two on you,” said the man, thrusting the candle farther out, and +shielding his eyes with his hand. “Who’s the t’other one?” +</p> + +<p> +“A new pal,” replied Jack Dawkins, pulling Oliver forward. +</p> + +<p> +“Where did he come from?” +</p> + +<p> +“Greenland. Is Fagin upstairs?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, he’s a sortin’ the wipes. Up with you!” The candle was drawn back, and +the face disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver, groping his way with one hand, and having the other firmly grasped by +his companion, ascended with much difficulty the dark and broken stairs: which +his conductor mounted with an ease and expedition that showed he was well +acquainted with them. +</p> + +<p> +He threw open the door of a back-room, and drew Oliver in after him. +</p> + +<p> +The walls and ceiling of the room were perfectly black with age and dirt. There +was a deal table before the fire: upon which were a candle, stuck in a +ginger-beer bottle, two or three pewter pots, a loaf and butter, and a plate. +In a frying-pan, which was on the fire, and which was secured to the +mantelshelf by a string, some sausages were cooking; and standing over them, +with a toasting-fork in his hand, was a very old shrivelled Jew, whose +villainous-looking and repulsive face was obscured by a quantity of matted red +hair. He was dressed in a greasy flannel gown, with his throat bare; and seemed +to be dividing his attention between the frying-pan and the clothes-horse, over +which a great number of silk handkerchiefs were hanging. Several rough beds +made of old sacks, were huddled side by side on the floor. Seated round the +table were four or five boys, none older than the Dodger, smoking long clay +pipes, and drinking spirits with the air of middle-aged men. These all crowded +about their associate as he whispered a few words to the Jew; and then turned +round and grinned at Oliver. So did the Jew himself, toasting-fork in hand. +</p> + +<p> +“This is him, Fagin,” said Jack Dawkins; “my friend Oliver Twist.” +</p> + +<p> +The Jew grinned; and, making a low obeisance to Oliver, took him by the hand, +and hoped he should have the honour of his intimate acquaintance. Upon this, +the young gentleman with the pipes came round him, and shook both his hands +very hard—especially the one in which he held his little bundle. One young +gentleman was very anxious to hang up his cap for him; and another was so +obliging as to put his hands in his pockets, in order that, as he was very +tired, he might not have the trouble of emptying them, himself, when he went to +bed. These civilities would probably be extended much farther, but for a +liberal exercise of the Jew’s toasting-fork on the heads and shoulders of the +affectionate youths who offered them. +</p> + +<p> +“We are very glad to see you, Oliver, very,” said the Jew. “Dodger, take off +the sausages; and draw a tub near the fire for Oliver. Ah, you’re a-staring at +the pocket-handkerchiefs! eh, my dear? There are a good many of ’em, ain’t +there? We’ve just looked ’em out, ready for the wash; that’s all, Oliver; +that’s all. Ha! ha! ha!” +</p> + +<p> +The latter part of this speech, was hailed by a boisterous shout from all the +hopeful pupils of the merry old gentleman. In the midst of which they went to +supper. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver ate his share, and the Jew then mixed him a glass of hot gin and water, +telling him he must drink it off directly, because another gentleman wanted the +tumbler. Oliver did as he was desired. Immediately afterwards he felt himself +gently lifted on to one of the sacks; and then he sunk into a deep sleep. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a> CHAPTER IX.<br/> +CONTAINING FURTHER PARTICULARS CONCERNING THE PLEASANT OLD GENTLEMAN, AND HIS +HOPEFUL PUPILS</h2> + +<p> +It was late next morning when Oliver awoke, from a sound, long sleep. There was +no other person in the room but the old Jew, who was boiling some coffee in a +saucepan for breakfast, and whistling softly to himself as he stirred it round +and round, with an iron spoon. He would stop every now and then to listen when +there was the least noise below: and when he had satisfied himself, he would go +on whistling and stirring again, as before. +</p> + +<p> +Although Oliver had roused himself from sleep, he was not thoroughly awake. +There is a drowsy state, between sleeping and waking, when you dream more in +five minutes with your eyes half open, and yourself half conscious of +everything that is passing around you, than you would in five nights with your +eyes fast closed, and your senses wrapt in perfect unconsciousness. At such +time, a mortal knows just enough of what his mind is doing, to form some +glimmering conception of its mighty powers, its bounding from earth and +spurning time and space, when freed from the restraint of its corporeal +associate. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver was precisely in this condition. He saw the Jew with his half-closed +eyes; heard his low whistling; and recognised the sound of the spoon grating +against the saucepan’s sides: and yet the self-same senses were mentally +engaged, at the same time, in busy action with almost everybody he had ever +known. +</p> + +<p> +When the coffee was done, the Jew drew the saucepan to the hob. Standing, then +in an irresolute attitude for a few minutes, as if he did not well know how to +employ himself, he turned round and looked at Oliver, and called him by his +name. He did not answer, and was to all appearances asleep. +</p> + +<p> +After satisfying himself upon this head, the Jew stepped gently to the door: +which he fastened. He then drew forth: as it seemed to Oliver, from some trap +in the floor: a small box, which he placed carefully on the table. His eyes +glistened as he raised the lid, and looked in. Dragging an old chair to the +table, he sat down; and took from it a magnificent gold watch, sparkling with +jewels. +</p> + +<p> +“Aha!” said the Jew, shrugging up his shoulders, and distorting every feature +with a hideous grin. “Clever dogs! Clever dogs! Staunch to the last! Never told +the old parson where they were. Never poached upon old Fagin! And why should +they? It wouldn’t have loosened the knot, or kept the drop up, a minute longer. +No, no, no! Fine fellows! Fine fellows!” +</p> + +<p> +With these, and other muttered reflections of the like nature, the Jew once +more deposited the watch in its place of safety. At least half a dozen more +were severally drawn forth from the same box, and surveyed with equal pleasure; +besides rings, brooches, bracelets, and other articles of jewellery, of such +magnificent materials, and costly workmanship, that Oliver had no idea, even of +their names. +</p> + +<p> +Having replaced these trinkets, the Jew took out another: so small that it lay +in the palm of his hand. There seemed to be some very minute inscription on it; +for the Jew laid it flat upon the table, and shading it with his hand, pored +over it, long and earnestly. At length he put it down, as if despairing of +success; and, leaning back in his chair, muttered: +</p> + +<p> +“What a fine thing capital punishment is! Dead men never repent; dead men never +bring awkward stories to light. Ah, it’s a fine thing for the trade! Five of +’em strung up in a row, and none left to play booty, or turn white-livered!” +</p> + +<p> +As the Jew uttered these words, his bright dark eyes, which had been staring +vacantly before him, fell on Oliver’s face; the boy’s eyes were fixed on his in +mute curiousity; and although the recognition was only for an instant—for the +briefest space of time that can possibly be conceived—it was enough to show the +old man that he had been observed. +</p> + +<p> +He closed the lid of the box with a loud crash; and, laying his hand on a bread +knife which was on the table, started furiously up. He trembled very much +though; for, even in his terror, Oliver could see that the knife quivered in +the air. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” said the Jew. “What do you watch me for? Why are you awake? What +have you seen? Speak out, boy! Quick—quick! for your life.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wasn’t able to sleep any longer, sir,” replied Oliver, meekly. “I am very +sorry if I have disturbed you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“You were not awake an hour ago?” said the Jew, scowling fiercely on the boy. +</p> + +<p> +“No! No, indeed!” replied Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you sure?” cried the Jew: with a still fiercer look than before: and a +threatening attitude. +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my word I was not, sir,” replied Oliver, earnestly. “I was not, indeed, +sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tush, tush, my dear!” said the Jew, abruptly resuming his old manner, and +playing with the knife a little, before he laid it down; as if to induce the +belief that he had caught it up, in mere sport. “Of course I know that, my +dear. I only tried to frighten you. You’re a brave boy. Ha! ha! you’re a brave +boy, Oliver.” The Jew rubbed his hands with a chuckle, but glanced uneasily at +the box, notwithstanding. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you see any of these pretty things, my dear?” said the Jew, laying his +hand upon it after a short pause. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” replied Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said the Jew, turning rather pale. “They—they’re mine, Oliver; my little +property. All I have to live upon, in my old age. The folks call me a miser, my +dear. Only a miser; that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver thought the old gentleman must be a decided miser to live in such a +dirty place, with so many watches; but, thinking that perhaps his fondness for +the Dodger and the other boys, cost him a good deal of money, he only cast a +deferential look at the Jew, and asked if he might get up. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly, my dear, certainly,” replied the old gentleman. “Stay. There’s a +pitcher of water in the corner by the door. Bring it here; and I’ll give you a +basin to wash in, my dear.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver got up; walked across the room; and stooped for an instant to raise the +pitcher. When he turned his head, the box was gone. +</p> + +<p> +He had scarcely washed himself, and made everything tidy, by emptying the basin +out of the window, agreeably to the Jew’s directions, when the Dodger returned: +accompanied by a very sprightly young friend, whom Oliver had seen smoking on +the previous night, and who was now formally introduced to him as Charley +Bates. The four sat down, to breakfast, on the coffee, and some hot rolls and +ham which the Dodger had brought home in the crown of his hat. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the Jew, glancing slyly at Oliver, and addressing himself to the +Dodger, “I hope you’ve been at work this morning, my dears?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hard,” replied the Dodger. +</p> + +<p> +“As nails,” added Charley Bates. +</p> + +<p> +“Good boys, good boys!” said the Jew. “What have you got, Dodger?” +</p> + +<p> +“A couple of pocket-books,” replied that young gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“Lined?” inquired the Jew, with eagerness. +</p> + +<p> +“Pretty well,” replied the Dodger, producing two pocket-books; one green, and +the other red. +</p> + +<p> +“Not so heavy as they might be,” said the Jew, after looking at the insides +carefully; “but very neat and nicely made. Ingenious workman, ain’t he, +Oliver?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very indeed, sir,” said Oliver. At which Mr. Charles Bates laughed +uproariously; very much to the amazement of Oliver, who saw nothing to laugh +at, in anything that had passed. +</p> + +<p> +“And what have you got, my dear?” said Fagin to Charley Bates. +</p> + +<p> +“Wipes,” replied Master Bates; at the same time producing four +pocket-handkerchiefs. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the Jew, inspecting them closely; “they’re very good ones, very. +You haven’t marked them well, though, Charley; so the marks shall be picked out +with a needle, and we’ll teach Oliver how to do it. Shall us, Oliver, eh? Ha! +ha! ha!” +</p> + +<p> +“If you please, sir,” said Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“You’d like to be able to make pocket-handkerchiefs as easy as Charley Bates, +wouldn’t you, my dear?” said the Jew. +</p> + +<p> +“Very much, indeed, if you’ll teach me, sir,” replied Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +Master Bates saw something so exquisitely ludicrous in this reply, that he +burst into another laugh; which laugh, meeting the coffee he was drinking, and +carrying it down some wrong channel, very nearly terminated in his premature +suffocation. +</p> + +<p> +“He is so jolly green!” said Charley when he recovered, as an apology to the +company for his unpolite behaviour. +</p> + +<p> +The Dodger said nothing, but he smoothed Oliver’s hair over his eyes, and said +he’d know better, by and by; upon which the old gentleman, observing Oliver’s +colour mounting, changed the subject by asking whether there had been much of a +crowd at the execution that morning? This made him wonder more and more; for it +was plain from the replies of the two boys that they had both been there; and +Oliver naturally wondered how they could possibly have found time to be so very +industrious. +</p> + +<p> +When the breakfast was cleared away; the merry old gentleman and the two boys +played at a very curious and uncommon game, which was performed in this way. +The merry old gentleman, placing a snuff-box in one pocket of his trousers, a +note-case in the other, and a watch in his waistcoat pocket, with a guard-chain +round his neck, and sticking a mock diamond pin in his shirt: buttoned his coat +tight round him, and putting his spectacle-case and handkerchief in his +pockets, trotted up and down the room with a stick, in imitation of the manner +in which old gentlemen walk about the streets any hour in the day. Sometimes he +stopped at the fire-place, and sometimes at the door, making believe that he +was staring with all his might into shop-windows. At such times, he would look +constantly round him, for fear of thieves, and would keep slapping all his +pockets in turn, to see that he hadn’t lost anything, in such a very funny and +natural manner, that Oliver laughed till the tears ran down his face. All this +time, the two boys followed him closely about: getting out of his sight, so +nimbly, every time he turned round, that it was impossible to follow their +motions. At last, the Dodger trod upon his toes, or ran upon his boot +accidently, while Charley Bates stumbled up against him behind; and in that one +moment they took from him, with the most extraordinary rapidity, snuff-box, +note-case, watch-guard, chain, shirt-pin, pocket-handkerchief, even the +spectacle-case. If the old gentleman felt a hand in any one of his pockets, he +cried out where it was; and then the game began all over again. +</p> + +<p> +When this game had been played a great many times, a couple of young ladies +called to see the young gentleman; one of whom was named Bet, and the other +Nancy. They wore a good deal of hair, not very neatly turned up behind, and +were rather untidy about the shoes and stockings. They were not exactly pretty, +perhaps; but they had a great deal of colour in their faces, and looked quite +stout and hearty. Being remarkably free and agreeable in their manners, Oliver +thought them very nice girls indeed, as there is no doubt they were. +</p> + +<p> +The visitors stopped a long time. Spirits were produced, in consequence of one +of the young ladies complaining of a coldness in her inside; and the +conversation took a very convivial and improving turn. At length, Charley Bates +expressed his opinion that it was time to pad the hoof. This, it occurred to +Oliver, must be French for going out; for directly afterwards, the Dodger, and +Charley, and the two young ladies, went away together, having been kindly +furnished by the amiable old Jew with money to spend. +</p> + +<p> +“There, my dear,” said Fagin. “That’s a pleasant life, isn’t it? They have gone +out for the day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have they done work, sir?” inquired Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the Jew; “that is, unless they should unexpectedly come across any, +when they are out; and they won’t neglect it, if they do, my dear, depend upon +it. Make ’em your models, my dear. Make ’em your models,” tapping the +fire-shovel on the hearth to add force to his words; “do everything they bid +you, and take their advice in all matters—especially the Dodger’s, my dear. +He’ll be a great man himself, and will make you one too, if you take pattern by +him.—Is my handkerchief hanging out of my pocket, my dear?” said the Jew, +stopping short. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” said Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“See if you can take it out, without my feeling it; as you saw them do, when we +were at play this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver held up the bottom of the pocket with one hand, as he had seen the +Dodger hold it, and drew the handkerchief lightly out of it with the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it gone?” cried the Jew. +</p> + +<p> +“Here it is, sir,” said Oliver, showing it in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a clever boy, my dear,” said the playful old gentleman, patting Oliver +on the head approvingly. “I never saw a sharper lad. Here’s a shilling for you. +If you go on, in this way, you’ll be the greatest man of the time. And now come +here, and I’ll show you how to take the marks out of the handkerchiefs.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver wondered what picking the old gentleman’s pocket in play, had to do with +his chances of being a great man. But, thinking that the Jew, being so much his +senior, must know best, he followed him quietly to the table, and was soon +deeply involved in his new study. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a> CHAPTER X.<br/> +OLIVER BECOMES BETTER ACQUAINTED WITH THE CHARACTERS OF HIS NEW ASSOCIATES; AND +PURCHASES EXPERIENCE AT A HIGH PRICE. BEING A SHORT, BUT VERY IMPORTANT +CHAPTER, IN THIS HISTORY</h2> + +<p> +For many days, Oliver remained in the Jew’s room, picking the marks out of the +pocket-handkerchief, (of which a great number were brought home,) and sometimes +taking part in the game already described: which the two boys and the Jew +played, regularly, every morning. At length, he began to languish for fresh +air, and took many occasions of earnestly entreating the old gentleman to allow +him to go out to work with his two companions. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver was rendered the more anxious to be actively employed, by what he had +seen of the stern morality of the old gentleman’s character. Whenever the +Dodger or Charley Bates came home at night, empty-handed, he would expatiate +with great vehemence on the misery of idle and lazy habits; and would enforce +upon them the necessity of an active life, by sending them supperless to bed. +On one occasion, indeed, he even went so far as to knock them both down a +flight of stairs; but this was carrying out his virtuous precepts to an unusual +extent. +</p> + +<p> +At length, one morning, Oliver obtained the permission he had so eagerly +sought. There had been no handkerchiefs to work upon, for two or three days, +and the dinners had been rather meagre. Perhaps these were reasons for the old +gentleman’s giving his assent; but, whether they were or no, he told Oliver he +might go, and placed him under the joint guardianship of Charley Bates, and his +friend the Dodger. +</p> + +<p> +The three boys sallied out; the Dodger with his coat-sleeves tucked up, and his +hat cocked, as usual; Master Bates sauntering along with his hands in his +pockets; and Oliver between them, wondering where they were going, and what +branch of manufacture he would be instructed in first. +</p> + +<p> +The pace at which they went, was such a very lazy, ill-looking saunter, that +Oliver soon began to think his companions were going to deceive the old +gentleman, by not going to work at all. The Dodger had a vicious propensity, +too, of pulling the caps from the heads of small boys and tossing them down +areas; while Charley Bates exhibited some very loose notions concerning the +rights of property, by pilfering divers apples and onions from the stalls at +the kennel sides, and thrusting them into pockets which were so surprisingly +capacious, that they seemed to undermine his whole suit of clothes in every +direction. These things looked so bad, that Oliver was on the point of +declaring his intention of seeking his way back, in the best way he could; when +his thoughts were suddenly directed into another channel, by a very mysterious +change of behaviour on the part of the Dodger. +</p> + +<p> +They were just emerging from a narrow court not far from the open square in +Clerkenwell, which is yet called, by some strange perversion of terms, “The +Green”: when the Dodger made a sudden stop; and, laying his finger on his lip, +drew his companions back again, with the greatest caution and circumspection. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter?” demanded Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush!” replied the Dodger. “Do you see that old cove at the book-stall?” +</p> + +<p> +“The old gentleman over the way?” said Oliver. “Yes, I see him.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll do,” said the Dodger. +</p> + +<p> +“A prime plant,” observed Master Charley Bates. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver looked from one to the other, with the greatest surprise; but he was not +permitted to make any inquiries; for the two boys walked stealthily across the +road, and slunk close behind the old gentleman towards whom his attention had +been directed. Oliver walked a few paces after them; and, not knowing whether +to advance or retire, stood looking on in silent amazement. +</p> + +<p> +The old gentleman was a very respectable-looking personage, with a powdered +head and gold spectacles. He was dressed in a bottle-green coat with a black +velvet collar; wore white trousers; and carried a smart bamboo cane under his +arm. He had taken up a book from the stall, and there he stood, reading away, +as hard as if he were in his elbow-chair, in his own study. It is very possible +that he fancied himself there, indeed; for it was plain, from his abstraction, +that he saw not the book-stall, nor the street, nor the boys, nor, in short, +anything but the book itself: which he was reading straight through: turning +over the leaf when he got to the bottom of a page, beginning at the top line of +the next one, and going regularly on, with the greatest interest and eagerness. +</p> + +<p> +What was Oliver’s horror and alarm as he stood a few paces off, looking on with +his eyelids as wide open as they would possibly go, to see the Dodger plunge +his hand into the old gentleman’s pocket, and draw from thence a handkerchief! +To see him hand the same to Charley Bates; and finally to behold them, both +running away round the corner at full speed! +</p> + +<p> +In an instant the whole mystery of the hankerchiefs, and the watches, and the +jewels, and the Jew, rushed upon the boy’s mind. +</p> + +<p> +He stood, for a moment, with the blood so tingling through all his veins from +terror, that he felt as if he were in a burning fire; then, confused and +frightened, he took to his heels; and, not knowing what he did, made off as +fast as he could lay his feet to the ground. +</p> + +<p> +This was all done in a minute’s space. In the very instant when Oliver began to +run, the old gentleman, putting his hand to his pocket, and missing his +handkerchief, turned sharp round. Seeing the boy scudding away at such a rapid +pace, he very naturally concluded him to be the depredator; and shouting “Stop +thief!” with all his might, made off after him, book in hand. +</p> + +<p> +But the old gentleman was not the only person who raised the hue-and-cry. The +Dodger and Master Bates, unwilling to attract public attention by running down +the open street, had merely retired into the very first doorway round the +corner. They no sooner heard the cry, and saw Oliver running, than, guessing +exactly how the matter stood, they issued forth with great promptitude; and, +shouting “Stop thief!” too, joined in the pursuit like good citizens. +</p> + +<p> +Although Oliver had been brought up by philosophers, he was not theoretically +acquainted with the beautiful axiom that self-preservation is the first law of +nature. If he had been, perhaps he would have been prepared for this. Not being +prepared, however, it alarmed him the more; so away he went like the wind, with +the old gentleman and the two boys roaring and shouting behind him. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop thief! Stop thief!” There is a magic in the sound. The tradesman leaves +his counter, and the car-man his waggon; the butcher throws down his tray; the +baker his basket; the milkman his pail; the errand-boy his parcels; the +school-boy his marbles; the paviour his pickaxe; the child his battledore. Away +they run, pell-mell, helter-skelter, slap-dash: tearing, yelling, screaming, +knocking down the passengers as they turn the corners, rousing up the dogs, and +astonishing the fowls: and streets, squares, and courts, re-echo with the +sound. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop thief! Stop thief!” The cry is taken up by a hundred voices, and the +crowd accumulate at every turning. Away they fly, splashing through the mud, +and rattling along the pavements: up go the windows, out run the people, onward +bear the mob, a whole audience desert Punch in the very thickest of the plot, +and, joining the rushing throng, swell the shout, and lend fresh vigour to the +cry, “Stop thief! Stop thief!” +</p> + +<p> +“Stop thief! Stop thief!” There is a passion <i>for hunting something</i> +deeply implanted in the human breast. One wretched breathless child, panting +with exhaustion; terror in his looks; agony in his eyes; large drops of +perspiration streaming down his face; strains every nerve to make head upon his +pursuers; and as they follow on his track, and gain upon him every instant, +they hail his decreasing strength with joy. “Stop thief!” Ay, stop him for +God’s sake, were it only in mercy! +</p> + +<p> +Stopped at last! A clever blow. He is down upon the pavement; and the crowd +eagerly gather round him: each new comer, jostling and struggling with the +others to catch a glimpse. “Stand aside!” “Give him a little air!” “Nonsense! +he don’t deserve it.” “Where’s the gentleman?” “Here he is, coming down the +street.” “Make room there for the gentleman!” “Is this the boy, sir!” “Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver lay, covered with mud and dust, and bleeding from the mouth, looking +wildly round upon the heap of faces that surrounded him, when the old gentleman +was officiously dragged and pushed into the circle by the foremost of the +pursuers. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the gentleman, “I am afraid it is the boy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Afraid!” murmured the crowd. “That’s a good ’un!” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor fellow!” said the gentleman, “he has hurt himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I</i> did that, sir,” said a great lubberly fellow, stepping forward; “and +preciously I cut my knuckle agin’ his mouth. <i>I</i> stopped him, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +The fellow touched his hat with a grin, expecting something for his pains; but, +the old gentleman, eyeing him with an expression of dislike, look anxiously +round, as if he contemplated running away himself: which it is very possible he +might have attempted to do, and thus have afforded another chase, had not a +police officer (who is generally the last person to arrive in such cases) at +that moment made his way through the crowd, and seized Oliver by the collar. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, get up,” said the man, roughly. +</p> + +<p> +“It wasn’t me indeed, sir. Indeed, indeed, it was two other boys,” said Oliver, +clasping his hands passionately, and looking round. “They are here somewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh no, they ain’t,” said the officer. He meant this to be ironical, but it was +true besides; for the Dodger and Charley Bates had filed off down the first +convenient court they came to. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, get up!” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t hurt him,” said the old gentleman, compassionately. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh no, I won’t hurt him,” replied the officer, tearing his jacket half off his +back, in proof thereof. “Come, I know you; it won’t do. Will you stand upon +your legs, you young devil?” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver, who could hardly stand, made a shift to raise himself on his feet, and +was at once lugged along the streets by the jacket-collar, at a rapid pace. The +gentleman walked on with them by the officer’s side; and as many of the crowd +as could achieve the feat, got a little ahead, and stared back at Oliver from +time to time. The boys shouted in triumph; and on they went. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a> CHAPTER XI.<br/> +TREATS OF MR. FANG THE POLICE MAGISTRATE; AND FURNISHES A SLIGHT SPECIMEN OF +HIS MODE OF ADMINISTERING JUSTICE</h2> + +<p> +The offence had been committed within the district, and indeed in the immediate +neighbourhood of, a very notorious metropolitan police office. The crowd had +only the satisfaction of accompanying Oliver through two or three streets, and +down a place called Mutton Hill, when he was led beneath a low archway, and up +a dirty court, into this dispensary of summary justice, by the back way. It was +a small paved yard into which they turned; and here they encountered a stout +man with a bunch of whiskers on his face, and a bunch of keys in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter now?” said the man carelessly. +</p> + +<p> +“A young fogle-hunter,” replied the man who had Oliver in charge. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you the party that’s been robbed, sir?” inquired the man with the keys. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I am,” replied the old gentleman; “but I am not sure that this boy +actually took the handkerchief. I—I would rather not press the case.” +</p> + +<p> +“Must go before the magistrate now, sir,” replied the man. “His worship will be +disengaged in half a minute. Now, young gallows!” +</p> + +<p> +This was an invitation for Oliver to enter through a door which he unlocked as +he spoke, and which led into a stone cell. Here he was searched; and nothing +being found upon him, locked up. +</p> + +<p> +This cell was in shape and size something like an area cellar, only not so +light. It was most intolerably dirty; for it was Monday morning; and it had +been tenanted by six drunken people, who had been locked up, elsewhere, since +Saturday night. But this is little. In our station-houses, men and women are +every night confined on the most trivial charges—the word is worth noting—in +dungeons, compared with which, those in Newgate, occupied by the most atrocious +felons, tried, found guilty, and under sentence of death, are palaces. Let any +one who doubts this, compare the two. +</p> + +<p> +The old gentleman looked almost as rueful as Oliver when the key grated in the +lock. He turned with a sigh to the book, which had been the innocent cause of +all this disturbance. +</p> + +<p> +“There is something in that boy’s face,” said the old gentleman to himself as +he walked slowly away, tapping his chin with the cover of the book, in a +thoughtful manner; “something that touches and interests me. <i>Can</i> he be +innocent? He looked like— Bye the bye,” exclaimed the old gentleman, halting +very abruptly, and staring up into the sky, “Bless my soul!—where have I seen +something like that look before?” +</p> + +<p> +After musing for some minutes, the old gentleman walked, with the same +meditative face, into a back anteroom opening from the yard; and there, +retiring into a corner, called up before his mind’s eye a vast amphitheatre of +faces over which a dusky curtain had hung for many years. “No,” said the old +gentleman, shaking his head; “it must be imagination.” +</p> + +<p> +He wandered over them again. He had called them into view, and it was not easy +to replace the shroud that had so long concealed them. There were the faces of +friends, and foes, and of many that had been almost strangers peering +intrusively from the crowd; there were the faces of young and blooming girls +that were now old women; there were faces that the grave had changed and closed +upon, but which the mind, superior to its power, still dressed in their old +freshness and beauty, calling back the lustre of the eyes, the brightness of +the smile, the beaming of the soul through its mask of clay, and whispering of +beauty beyond the tomb, changed but to be heightened, and taken from earth only +to be set up as a light, to shed a soft and gentle glow upon the path to +Heaven. +</p> + +<p> +But the old gentleman could recall no one countenance of which Oliver’s +features bore a trace. So, he heaved a sigh over the recollections he awakened; +and being, happily for himself, an absent old gentleman, buried them again in +the pages of the musty book. +</p> + +<p> +He was roused by a touch on the shoulder, and a request from the man with the +keys to follow him into the office. He closed his book hastily; and was at once +ushered into the imposing presence of the renowned Mr. Fang. +</p> + +<p> +The office was a front parlour, with a panelled wall. Mr. Fang sat behind a +bar, at the upper end; and on one side of the door was a sort of wooden pen in +which poor little Oliver was already deposited; trembling very much at the +awfulness of the scene. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Fang was a lean, long-backed, stiff-necked, middle-sized man, with no great +quantity of hair, and what he had, growing on the back and sides of his head. +His face was stern, and much flushed. If he were really not in the habit of +drinking rather more than was exactly good for him, he might have brought +action against his countenance for libel, and have recovered heavy damages. +</p> + +<p> +The old gentleman bowed respectfully; and advancing to the magistrate’s desk, +said, suiting the action to the word, “That is my name and address, sir.” He +then withdrew a pace or two; and, with another polite and gentlemanly +inclination of the head, waited to be questioned. +</p> + +<p> +Now, it so happened that Mr. Fang was at that moment perusing a leading article +in a newspaper of the morning, adverting to some recent decision of his, and +commending him, for the three hundred and fiftieth time, to the special and +particular notice of the Secretary of State for the Home Department. He was out +of temper; and he looked up with an angry scowl. +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you?” said Mr. Fang. +</p> + +<p> +The old gentleman pointed, with some surprise, to his card. +</p> + +<p> +“Officer!” said Mr. Fang, tossing the card contemptuously away with the +newspaper. “Who is this fellow?” +</p> + +<p> +“My name, sir,” said the old gentleman, speaking <i>like</i> a gentleman, “my +name, sir, is Brownlow. Permit me to inquire the name of the magistrate who +offers a gratuitous and unprovoked insult to a respectable person, under the +protection of the bench.” Saying this, Mr. Brownlow looked around the office as +if in search of some person who would afford him the required information. +</p> + +<p> +“Officer!” said Mr. Fang, throwing the paper on one side, “what’s this fellow +charged with?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s not charged at all, your worship,” replied the officer. “He appears +against this boy, your worship.” +</p> + +<p> +His worship knew this perfectly well; but it was a good annoyance, and a safe +one. +</p> + +<p> +“Appears against the boy, does he?” said Mr. Fang, surveying Mr. Brownlow +contemptuously from head to foot. “Swear him!” +</p> + +<p> +“Before I am sworn, I must beg to say one word,” said Mr. Brownlow; “and that +is, that I really never, without actual experience, could have believed—” +</p> + +<p> +“Hold your tongue, sir!” said Mr. Fang, peremptorily. +</p> + +<p> +“I will not, sir!” replied the old gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold your tongue this instant, or I’ll have you turned out of the office!” +said Mr. Fang. “You’re an insolent impertinent fellow. How dare you bully a +magistrate!” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” exclaimed the old gentleman, reddening. +</p> + +<p> +“Swear this person!” said Fang to the clerk. “I’ll not hear another word. Swear +him.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brownlow’s indignation was greatly roused; but reflecting perhaps, that he +might only injure the boy by giving vent to it, he suppressed his feelings and +submitted to be sworn at once. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said Fang, “what’s the charge against this boy? What have you got to +say, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was standing at a bookstall—” Mr. Brownlow began. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold your tongue, sir,” said Mr. Fang. “Policeman! Where’s the policeman? +Here, swear this policeman. Now, policeman, what is this?” +</p> + +<p> +The policeman, with becoming humility, related how he had taken the charge; how +he had searched Oliver, and found nothing on his person; and how that was all +he knew about it. +</p> + +<p> +“Are there any witnesses?” inquired Mr. Fang. +</p> + +<p> +“None, your worship,” replied the policeman. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Fang sat silent for some minutes, and then, turning round to the +prosecutor, said in a towering passion. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to state what your complaint against this boy is, man, or do you +not? You have been sworn. Now, if you stand there, refusing to give evidence, +I’ll punish you for disrespect to the bench; I will, by—” +</p> + +<p> +By what, or by whom, nobody knows, for the clerk and jailor coughed very loud, +just at the right moment; and the former dropped a heavy book upon the floor, +thus preventing the word from being heard—accidently, of course. +</p> + +<p> +With many interruptions, and repeated insults, Mr. Brownlow contrived to state +his case; observing that, in the surprise of the moment, he had run after the +boy because he had seen him running away; and expressing his hope that, if the +magistrate should believe him, although not actually the thief, to be connected +with the thieves, he would deal as leniently with him as justice would allow. +</p> + +<p> +“He has been hurt already,” said the old gentleman in conclusion. “And I fear,” +he added, with great energy, looking towards the bar, “I really fear that he is +ill.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! yes, I dare say!” said Mr. Fang, with a sneer. “Come, none of your tricks +here, you young vagabond; they won’t do. What’s your name?” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver tried to reply but his tongue failed him. He was deadly pale; and the +whole place seemed turning round and round. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s your name, you hardened scoundrel?” demanded Mr. Fang. “Officer, what’s +his name?” +</p> + +<p> +This was addressed to a bluff old fellow, in a striped waistcoat, who was +standing by the bar. He bent over Oliver, and repeated the inquiry; but finding +him really incapable of understanding the question; and knowing that his not +replying would only infuriate the magistrate the more, and add to the severity +of his sentence; he hazarded a guess. +</p> + +<p> +“He says his name’s Tom White, your worship,” said the kind-hearted +thief-taker. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, he won’t speak out, won’t he?” said Fang. “Very well, very well. Where +does he live?” +</p> + +<p> +“Where he can, your worship,” replied the officer; again pretending to receive +Oliver’s answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Has he any parents?” inquired Mr. Fang. +</p> + +<p> +“He says they died in his infancy, your worship,” replied the officer: +hazarding the usual reply. +</p> + +<p> +At this point of the inquiry, Oliver raised his head; and, looking round with +imploring eyes, murmured a feeble prayer for a draught of water. +</p> + +<p> +“Stuff and nonsense!” said Mr. Fang: “don’t try to make a fool of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think he really is ill, your worship,” remonstrated the officer. +</p> + +<p> +“I know better,” said Mr. Fang. +</p> + +<p> +“Take care of him, officer,” said the old gentleman, raising his hands +instinctively; “he’ll fall down.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stand away, officer,” cried Fang; “let him, if he likes.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver availed himself of the kind permission, and fell to the floor in a +fainting fit. The men in the office looked at each other, but no one dared to +stir. +</p> + +<p> +“I knew he was shamming,” said Fang, as if this were incontestable proof of the +fact. “Let him lie there; he’ll soon be tired of that.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you propose to deal with the case, sir?” inquired the clerk in a low +voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Summarily,” replied Mr. Fang. “He stands committed for three months—hard +labour of course. Clear the office.” +</p> + +<p> +The door was opened for this purpose, and a couple of men were preparing to +carry the insensible boy to his cell; when an elderly man of decent but poor +appearance, clad in an old suit of black, rushed hastily into the office, and +advanced towards the bench. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop, stop! don’t take him away! For Heaven’s sake stop a moment!” cried the +new comer, breathless with haste. +</p> + +<p> +Although the presiding Genii in such an office as this, exercise a summary and +arbitrary power over the liberties, the good name, the character, almost the +lives, of Her Majesty’s subjects, especially of the poorer class; and although, +within such walls, enough fantastic tricks are daily played to make the angels +blind with weeping; they are closed to the public, save through the medium of +the daily press. Mr. Fang was consequently not a little indignant to see an +unbidden guest enter in such irreverent disorder. +</p> + +<p> +“What is this? Who is this? Turn this man out. Clear the office!” cried Mr. +Fang. +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>will</i> speak,” cried the man; “I will not be turned out. I saw it all. +I keep the book-stall. I demand to be sworn. I will not be put down. Mr. Fang, +you must hear me. You must not refuse, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +The man was right. His manner was determined; and the matter was growing rather +too serious to be hushed up. +</p> + +<p> +“Swear the man,” growled Mr. Fang, with a very ill grace. “Now, man, what have +you got to say?” +</p> + +<p> +“This,” said the man: “I saw three boys: two others and the prisoner here: +loitering on the opposite side of the way, when this gentleman was reading. The +robbery was committed by another boy. I saw it done; and I saw that this boy +was perfectly amazed and stupified by it.” Having by this time recovered a +little breath, the worthy book-stall keeper proceeded to relate, in a more +coherent manner the exact circumstances of the robbery. +</p> + +<p> +“Why didn’t you come here before?” said Fang, after a pause. +</p> + +<p> +“I hadn’t a soul to mind the shop,” replied the man. “Everybody who could have +helped me, had joined in the pursuit. I could get nobody till five minutes ago; +and I’ve run here all the way.” +</p> + +<p> +“The prosecutor was reading, was he?” inquired Fang, after another pause. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied the man. “The very book he has in his hand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that book, eh?” said Fang. “Is it paid for?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, it is not,” replied the man, with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear me, I forgot all about it!” exclaimed the absent old gentleman, +innocently. +</p> + +<p> +“A nice person to prefer a charge against a poor boy!” said Fang, with a +comical effort to look humane. “I consider, sir, that you have obtained +possession of that book, under very suspicious and disreputable circumstances; +and you may think yourself very fortunate that the owner of the property +declines to prosecute. Let this be a lesson to you, my man, or the law will +overtake you yet. The boy is discharged. Clear the office!” +</p> + +<p> +“D—n me!” cried the old gentleman, bursting out with the rage he had kept down +so long, “d—n me! I’ll—” +</p> + +<p> +“Clear the office!” said the magistrate. “Officers, do you hear? Clear the +office!” +</p> + +<p> +The mandate was obeyed; and the indignant Mr. Brownlow was conveyed out, with +the book in one hand, and the bamboo cane in the other: in a perfect phrenzy of +rage and defiance. He reached the yard; and his passion vanished in a moment. +Little Oliver Twist lay on his back on the pavement, with his shirt unbuttoned, +and his temples bathed with water; his face a deadly white; and a cold tremble +convulsing his whole frame. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor boy, poor boy!” said Mr. Brownlow, bending over him. “Call a coach, +somebody, pray. Directly!” +</p> + +<p> +A coach was obtained, and Oliver having been carefully laid on the seat, the +old gentleman got in and sat himself on the other. +</p> + +<p> +“May I accompany you?” said the book-stall keeper, looking in. +</p> + +<p> +“Bless me, yes, my dear sir,” said Mr. Brownlow quickly. “I forgot you. Dear, +dear! I have this unhappy book still! Jump in. Poor fellow! There’s no time to +lose.” +</p> + +<p> +The book-stall keeper got into the coach; and away they drove. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a> CHAPTER XII.<br/> +IN WHICH OLIVER IS TAKEN BETTER CARE OF THAN HE EVER WAS BEFORE. AND IN WHICH +THE NARRATIVE REVERTS TO THE MERRY OLD GENTLEMAN AND HIS YOUTHFUL FRIENDS.</h2> + +<p> +The coach rattled away, over nearly the same ground as that which Oliver had +traversed when he first entered London in company with the Dodger; and, turning +a different way when it reached the Angel at Islington, stopped at length +before a neat house, in a quiet shady street near Pentonville. Here, a bed was +prepared, without loss of time, in which Mr. Brownlow saw his young charge +carefully and comfortably deposited; and here, he was tended with a kindness +and solicitude that knew no bounds. +</p> + +<p> +But, for many days, Oliver remained insensible to all the goodness of his new +friends. The sun rose and sank, and rose and sank again, and many times after +that; and still the boy lay stretched on his uneasy bed, dwindling away beneath +the dry and wasting heat of fever. The worm does not work more surely on the +dead body, than does this slow creeping fire upon the living frame. +</p> + +<p> +Weak, and thin, and pallid, he awoke at last from what seemed to have been a +long and troubled dream. Feebly raising himself in the bed, with his head +resting on his trembling arm, he looked anxiously around. +</p> + +<p> +“What room is this? Where have I been brought to?” said Oliver. “This is not +the place I went to sleep in.” +</p> + +<p> +He uttered these words in a feeble voice, being very faint and weak; but they +were overheard at once. The curtain at the bed’s head was hastily drawn back, +and a motherly old lady, very neatly and precisely dressed, rose as she undrew +it, from an arm-chair close by, in which she had been sitting at needle-work. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush, my dear,” said the old lady softly. “You must be very quiet, or you will +be ill again; and you have been very bad,—as bad as bad could be, pretty nigh. +Lie down again; there’s a dear!” With those words, the old lady very gently +placed Oliver’s head upon the pillow; and, smoothing back his hair from his +forehead, looked so kindly and loving in his face, that he could not help +placing his little withered hand in hers, and drawing it round his neck. +</p> + +<p> +“Save us!” said the old lady, with tears in her eyes. “What a grateful little +dear it is. Pretty creetur! What would his mother feel if she had sat by him as +I have, and could see him now!” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps she does see me,” whispered Oliver, folding his hands together; +“perhaps she has sat by me. I almost feel as if she had.” +</p> + +<p> +“That was the fever, my dear,” said the old lady mildly. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose it was,” replied Oliver, “because heaven is a long way off; and they +are too happy there, to come down to the bedside of a poor boy. But if she knew +I was ill, she must have pitied me, even there; for she was very ill herself +before she died. She can’t know anything about me though,” added Oliver after a +moment’s silence. “If she had seen me hurt, it would have made her sorrowful; +and her face has always looked sweet and happy, when I have dreamed of her.” +</p> + +<p> +The old lady made no reply to this; but wiping her eyes first, and her +spectacles, which lay on the counterpane, afterwards, as if they were part and +parcel of those features, brought some cool stuff for Oliver to drink; and +then, patting him on the cheek, told him he must lie very quiet, or he would be +ill again. +</p> + +<p> +So, Oliver kept very still; partly because he was anxious to obey the kind old +lady in all things; and partly, to tell the truth, because he was completely +exhausted with what he had already said. He soon fell into a gentle doze, from +which he was awakened by the light of a candle: which, being brought near the +bed, showed him a gentleman with a very large and loud-ticking gold watch in +his hand, who felt his pulse, and said he was a great deal better. +</p> + +<p> +“You <i>are</i> a great deal better, are you not, my dear?” said the gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, thank you, sir,” replied Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know you are,” said the gentleman: “You’re hungry too, an’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir,” answered Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“Hem!” said the gentleman. “No, I know you’re not. He is not hungry, Mrs. +Bedwin,” said the gentleman: looking very wise. +</p> + +<p> +The old lady made a respectful inclination of the head, which seemed to say +that she thought the doctor was a very clever man. The doctor appeared much of +the same opinion himself. +</p> + +<p> +“You feel sleepy, don’t you, my dear?” said the doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir,” replied Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said the doctor, with a very shrewd and satisfied look. “You’re not +sleepy. Nor thirsty. Are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir, rather thirsty,” answered Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“Just as I expected, Mrs. Bedwin,” said the doctor. “It’s very natural that he +should be thirsty. You may give him a little tea, ma’am, and some dry toast +without any butter. Don’t keep him too warm, ma’am; but be careful that you +don’t let him be too cold; will you have the goodness?” +</p> + +<p> +The old lady dropped a curtsey. The doctor, after tasting the cool stuff, and +expressing a qualified approval of it, hurried away: his boots creaking in a +very important and wealthy manner as he went downstairs. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver dozed off again, soon after this; when he awoke, it was nearly twelve +o’clock. The old lady tenderly bade him good-night shortly afterwards, and left +him in charge of a fat old woman who had just come: bringing with her, in a +little bundle, a small Prayer Book and a large nightcap. Putting the latter on +her head and the former on the table, the old woman, after telling Oliver that +she had come to sit up with him, drew her chair close to the fire and went off +into a series of short naps, chequered at frequent intervals with sundry +tumblings forward, and divers moans and chokings. These, however, had no worse +effect than causing her to rub her nose very hard, and then fall asleep again. +</p> + +<p> +And thus the night crept slowly on. Oliver lay awake for some time, counting +the little circles of light which the reflection of the rushlight-shade threw +upon the ceiling; or tracing with his languid eyes the intricate pattern of the +paper on the wall. The darkness and the deep stillness of the room were very +solemn; as they brought into the boy’s mind the thought that death had been +hovering there, for many days and nights, and might yet fill it with the gloom +and dread of his awful presence, he turned his face upon the pillow, and +fervently prayed to Heaven. +</p> + +<p> +Gradually, he fell into that deep tranquil sleep which ease from recent +suffering alone imparts; that calm and peaceful rest which it is pain to wake +from. Who, if this were death, would be roused again to all the struggles and +turmoils of life; to all its cares for the present; its anxieties for the +future; more than all, its weary recollections of the past! +</p> + +<p> +It had been bright day, for hours, when Oliver opened his eyes; he felt +cheerful and happy. The crisis of the disease was safely past. He belonged to +the world again. +</p> + +<p> +In three days’ time he was able to sit in an easy-chair, well propped up with +pillows; and, as he was still too weak to walk, Mrs. Bedwin had him carried +downstairs into the little housekeeper’s room, which belonged to her. Having +him set, here, by the fire-side, the good old lady sat herself down too; and, +being in a state of considerable delight at seeing him so much better, +forthwith began to cry most violently. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind me, my dear,” said the old lady; “I’m only having a regular good +cry. There; it’s all over now; and I’m quite comfortable.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re very, very kind to me, ma’am,” said Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, never you mind that, my dear,” said the old lady; “that’s got nothing to +do with your broth; and it’s full time you had it; for the doctor says Mr. +Brownlow may come in to see you this morning; and we must get up our best +looks, because the better we look, the more he’ll be pleased.” And with this, +the old lady applied herself to warming up, in a little saucepan, a basin full +of broth: strong enough, Oliver thought, to furnish an ample dinner, when +reduced to the regulation strength, for three hundred and fifty paupers, at the +lowest computation. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you fond of pictures, dear?” inquired the old lady, seeing that Oliver had +fixed his eyes, most intently, on a portrait which hung against the wall; just +opposite his chair. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t quite know, ma’am,” said Oliver, without taking his eyes from the +canvas; “I have seen so few that I hardly know. What a beautiful, mild face +that lady’s is!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said the old lady, “painters always make ladies out prettier than they +are, or they wouldn’t get any custom, child. The man that invented the machine +for taking likenesses might have known <i>that</i> would never succeed; it’s a +deal too honest. A deal,” said the old lady, laughing very heartily at her own +acuteness. +</p> + +<p> +“Is—is that a likeness, ma’am?” said Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the old lady, looking up for a moment from the broth; “that’s a +portrait.” +</p> + +<p> +“Whose, ma’am?” asked Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, really, my dear, I don’t know,” answered the old lady in a good-humoured +manner. “It’s not a likeness of anybody that you or I know, I expect. It seems +to strike your fancy, dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is so pretty,” replied Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, sure you’re not afraid of it?” said the old lady: observing in great +surprise, the look of awe with which the child regarded the painting. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh no, no,” returned Oliver quickly; “but the eyes look so sorrowful; and +where I sit, they seem fixed upon me. It makes my heart beat,” added Oliver in +a low voice, “as if it was alive, and wanted to speak to me, but couldn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lord save us!” exclaimed the old lady, starting; “don’t talk in that way, +child. You’re weak and nervous after your illness. Let me wheel your chair +round to the other side; and then you won’t see it. There!” said the old lady, +suiting the action to the word; “you don’t see it now, at all events.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver <i>did</i> see it in his mind’s eye as distinctly as if he had not +altered his position; but he thought it better not to worry the kind old lady; +so he smiled gently when she looked at him; and Mrs. Bedwin, satisfied that he +felt more comfortable, salted and broke bits of toasted bread into the broth, +with all the bustle befitting so solemn a preparation. Oliver got through it +with extraordinary expedition. He had scarcely swallowed the last spoonful, +when there came a soft rap at the door. “Come in,” said the old lady; and in +walked Mr. Brownlow. +</p> + +<p> +Now, the old gentleman came in as brisk as need be; but, he had no sooner +raised his spectacles on his forehead, and thrust his hands behind the skirts +of his dressing-gown to take a good long look at Oliver, than his countenance +underwent a very great variety of odd contortions. Oliver looked very worn and +shadowy from sickness, and made an ineffectual attempt to stand up, out of +respect to his benefactor, which terminated in his sinking back into the chair +again; and the fact is, if the truth must be told, that Mr. Brownlow’s heart, +being large enough for any six ordinary old gentlemen of humane disposition, +forced a supply of tears into his eyes, by some hydraulic process which we are +not sufficiently philosophical to be in a condition to explain. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor boy, poor boy!” said Mr. Brownlow, clearing his throat. “I’m rather +hoarse this morning, Mrs. Bedwin. I’m afraid I have caught cold.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope not, sir,” said Mrs. Bedwin. “Everything you have had, has been well +aired, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know, Bedwin. I don’t know,” said Mr. Brownlow; “I rather think I had +a damp napkin at dinner-time yesterday; but never mind that. How do you feel, +my dear?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very happy, sir,” replied Oliver. “And very grateful indeed, sir, for your +goodness to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good boy,” said Mr. Brownlow, stoutly. “Have you given him any nourishment, +Bedwin? Any slops, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“He has just had a basin of beautiful strong broth, sir,” replied Mrs. Bedwin, +drawing herself up slightly, and laying strong emphasis on the last word, to +intimate that between slops, and broth well compounded, there existed no +affinity or connection whatsoever. +</p> + +<p> +“Ugh!” said Mr. Brownlow, with a slight shudder; “a couple of glasses of port +wine would have done him a great deal more good. Wouldn’t they, Tom White, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“My name is Oliver, sir,” replied the little invalid with a look of great +astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +“Oliver,” said Mr. Brownlow; “Oliver what? Oliver White, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir, Twist, Oliver Twist.” +</p> + +<p> +“Queer name!” said the old gentleman. “What made you tell the magistrate your +name was White?” +</p> + +<p> +“I never told him so, sir,” returned Oliver in amazement. +</p> + +<p> +This sounded so like a falsehood, that the old gentleman looked somewhat +sternly in Oliver’s face. It was impossible to doubt him; there was truth in +every one of its thin and sharpened lineaments. +</p> + +<p> +“Some mistake,” said Mr. Brownlow. But, although his motive for looking +steadily at Oliver no longer existed, the old idea of the resemblance between +his features and some familiar face came upon him so strongly, that he could +not withdraw his gaze. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you are not angry with me, sir?” said Oliver, raising his eyes +beseechingly. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” replied the old gentleman. “Why! what’s this? Bedwin, look there!” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, he pointed hastily to the picture over Oliver’s head, and then to +the boy’s face. There was its living copy. The eyes, the head, the mouth; every +feature was the same. The expression was, for the instant, so precisely alike, +that the minutest line seemed copied with startling accuracy! +</p> + +<p> +Oliver knew not the cause of this sudden exclamation; for, not being strong +enough to bear the start it gave him, he fainted away. A weakness on his part, +which affords the narrative an opportunity of relieving the reader from +suspense, in behalf of the two young pupils of the Merry Old Gentleman; and of +recording— +</p> + +<p> +That when the Dodger, and his accomplished friend Master Bates, joined in the +hue-and-cry which was raised at Oliver’s heels, in consequence of their +executing an illegal conveyance of Mr. Brownlow’s personal property, as has +been already described, they were actuated by a very laudable and becoming +regard for themselves; and forasmuch as the freedom of the subject and the +liberty of the individual are among the first and proudest boasts of a +true-hearted Englishman, so, I need hardly beg the reader to observe, that this +action should tend to exalt them in the opinion of all public and patriotic +men, in almost as great a degree as this strong proof of their anxiety for +their own preservation and safety goes to corroborate and confirm the little +code of laws which certain profound and sound-judging philosophers have laid +down as the main-springs of all Nature’s deeds and actions: the said +philosophers very wisely reducing the good lady’s proceedings to matters of +maxim and theory: and, by a very neat and pretty compliment to her exalted +wisdom and understanding, putting entirely out of sight any considerations of +heart, or generous impulse and feeling. For, these are matters totally beneath +a female who is acknowledged by universal admission to be far above the +numerous little foibles and weaknesses of her sex. +</p> + +<p> +If I wanted any further proof of the strictly philosophical nature of the +conduct of these young gentlemen in their very delicate predicament, I should +at once find it in the fact (also recorded in a foregoing part of this +narrative), of their quitting the pursuit, when the general attention was fixed +upon Oliver; and making immediately for their home by the shortest possible +cut. Although I do not mean to assert that it is usually the practice of +renowned and learned sages, to shorten the road to any great conclusion (their +course indeed being rather to lengthen the distance, by various circumlocutions +and discursive staggerings, like unto those in which drunken men under the +pressure of a too mighty flow of ideas, are prone to indulge); still, I do mean +to say, and do say distinctly, that it is the invariable practice of many +mighty philosophers, in carrying out their theories, to evince great wisdom and +foresight in providing against every possible contingency which can be supposed +at all likely to affect themselves. Thus, to do a great right, you may do a +little wrong; and you may take any means which the end to be attained, will +justify; the amount of the right, or the amount of the wrong, or indeed the +distinction between the two, being left entirely to the philosopher concerned, +to be settled and determined by his clear, comprehensive, and impartial view of +his own particular case. +</p> + +<p> +It was not until the two boys had scoured, with great rapidity, through a most +intricate maze of narrow streets and courts, that they ventured to halt beneath +a low and dark archway. Having remained silent here, just long enough to +recover breath to speak, Master Bates uttered an exclamation of amusement and +delight; and, bursting into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, flung himself +upon a doorstep, and rolled thereon in a transport of mirth. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter?” inquired the Dodger. +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! ha! ha!” roared Charley Bates. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold your noise,” remonstrated the Dodger, looking cautiously round. “Do you +want to be grabbed, stupid?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t help it,” said Charley, “I can’t help it! To see him splitting away at +that pace, and cutting round the corners, and knocking up again’ the posts, and +starting on again as if he was made of iron as well as them, and me with the +wipe in my pocket, singing out arter him—oh, my eye!” The vivid imagination of +Master Bates presented the scene before him in too strong colours. As he +arrived at this apostrophe, he again rolled upon the door-step, and laughed +louder than before. +</p> + +<p> +“What’ll Fagin say?” inquired the Dodger; taking advantage of the next interval +of breathlessness on the part of his friend to propound the question. +</p> + +<p> +“What?” repeated Charley Bates. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, what?” said the Dodger. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, what should he say?” inquired Charley: stopping rather suddenly in his +merriment; for the Dodger’s manner was impressive. “What should he say?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Dawkins whistled for a couple of minutes; then, taking off his hat, +scratched his head, and nodded thrice. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” said Charley. +</p> + +<p> +“Toor rul lol loo, gammon and spinnage, the frog he wouldn’t, and high +cockolorum,” said the Dodger: with a slight sneer on his intellectual +countenance. +</p> + +<p> +This was explanatory, but not satisfactory. Master Bates felt it so; and again +said, “What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +The Dodger made no reply; but putting his hat on again, and gathering the +skirts of his long-tailed coat under his arm, thrust his tongue into his cheek, +slapped the bridge of his nose some half-dozen times in a familiar but +expressive manner, and turning on his heel, slunk down the court. Master Bates +followed, with a thoughtful countenance. +</p> + +<p> +The noise of footsteps on the creaking stairs, a few minutes after the +occurrence of this conversation, roused the merry old gentleman as he sat over +the fire with a saveloy and a small loaf in his hand; a pocket-knife in his +right; and a pewter pot on the trivet. There was a rascally smile on his white +face as he turned round, and looking sharply out from under his thick red +eyebrows, bent his ear towards the door, and listened. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, how’s this?” muttered the Jew: changing countenance; “only two of ’em? +Where’s the third? They can’t have got into trouble. Hark!” +</p> + +<p> +The footsteps approached nearer; they reached the landing. The door was slowly +opened; and the Dodger and Charley Bates entered, closing it behind them. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a> CHAPTER XIII.<br/> +SOME NEW ACQUAINTANCES ARE INTRODUCED TO THE INTELLIGENT READER, CONNECTED WITH +WHOM VARIOUS PLEASANT MATTERS ARE RELATED, APPERTAINING TO THIS HISTORY</h2> + +<p> +“Where’s Oliver?” said the Jew, rising with a menacing look. “Where’s the boy?” +</p> + +<p> +The young thieves eyed their preceptor as if they were alarmed at his violence; +and looked uneasily at each other. But they made no reply. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s become of the boy?” said the Jew, seizing the Dodger tightly by the +collar, and threatening him with horrid imprecations. “Speak out, or I’ll +throttle you!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Fagin looked so very much in earnest, that Charley Bates, who deemed it +prudent in all cases to be on the safe side, and who conceived it by no means +improbable that it might be his turn to be throttled second, dropped upon his +knees, and raised a loud, well-sustained, and continuous roar—something between +a mad bull and a speaking trumpet. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you speak?” thundered the Jew: shaking the Dodger so much that his +keeping in the big coat at all, seemed perfectly miraculous. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, the traps have got him, and that’s all about it,” said the Dodger, +sullenly. “Come, let go o’ me, will you!” And, swinging himself, at one jerk, +clean out of the big coat, which he left in the Jew’s hands, the Dodger +snatched up the toasting fork, and made a pass at the merry old gentleman’s +waistcoat; which, if it had taken effect, would have let a little more +merriment out than could have been easily replaced. +</p> + +<p> +The Jew stepped back in this emergency, with more agility than could have been +anticipated in a man of his apparent decrepitude; and, seizing up the pot, +prepared to hurl it at his assailant’s head. But Charley Bates, at this moment, +calling his attention by a perfectly terrific howl, he suddenly altered its +destination, and flung it full at that young gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, what the blazes is in the wind now!” growled a deep voice. “Who pitched +that ’ere at me? It’s well it’s the beer, and not the pot, as hit me, or I’d +have settled somebody. I might have know’d, as nobody but an infernal, rich, +plundering, thundering old Jew could afford to throw away any drink but +water—and not that, unless he done the River Company every quarter. Wot’s it +all about, Fagin? D—me, if my neck-handkercher an’t lined with beer! Come in, +you sneaking warmint; wot are you stopping outside for, as if you was ashamed +of your master! Come in!” +</p> + +<p> +The man who growled out these words, was a stoutly-built fellow of about +five-and-thirty, in a black velveteen coat, very soiled drab breeches, lace-up +half boots, and grey cotton stockings which inclosed a bulky pair of legs, with +large swelling calves;—the kind of legs, which in such costume, always look in +an unfinished and incomplete state without a set of fetters to garnish them. He +had a brown hat on his head, and a dirty belcher handkerchief round his neck: +with the long frayed ends of which he smeared the beer from his face as he +spoke. He disclosed, when he had done so, a broad heavy countenance with a +beard of three days’ growth, and two scowling eyes; one of which displayed +various parti-coloured symptoms of having been recently damaged by a blow. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in, d’ye hear?” growled this engaging ruffian. +</p> + +<p> +A white shaggy dog, with his face scratched and torn in twenty different +places, skulked into the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Why didn’t you come in afore?” said the man. “You’re getting too proud to own +me afore company, are you? Lie down!” +</p> + +<p> +This command was accompanied with a kick, which sent the animal to the other +end of the room. He appeared well used to it, however; for he coiled himself up +in a corner very quietly, without uttering a sound, and winking his very +ill-looking eyes twenty times in a minute, appeared to occupy himself in taking +a survey of the apartment. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you up to? Ill-treating the boys, you covetous, avaricious, +in-sa-ti-a-ble old fence?” said the man, seating himself deliberately. “I +wonder they don’t murder you! I would if I was them. If I’d been your +’prentice, I’d have done it long ago, and—no, I couldn’t have sold you +afterwards, for you’re fit for nothing but keeping as a curiousity of ugliness +in a glass bottle, and I suppose they don’t blow glass bottles large enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush! hush! Mr. Sikes,” said the Jew, trembling; “don’t speak so loud!” +</p> + +<p> +“None of your mistering,” replied the ruffian; “you always mean mischief when +you come that. You know my name: out with it! I shan’t disgrace it when the +time comes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well, then—Bill Sikes,” said the Jew, with abject humility. “You seem +out of humour, Bill.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps I am,” replied Sikes; “I should think you was rather out of sorts too, +unless you mean as little harm when you throw pewter pots about, as you do when +you blab and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you mad?” said the Jew, catching the man by the sleeve, and pointing +towards the boys. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Sikes contented himself with tying an imaginary knot under his left ear, +and jerking his head over on the right shoulder; a piece of dumb show which the +Jew appeared to understand perfectly. He then, in cant terms, with which his +whole conversation was plentifully besprinkled, but which would be quite +unintelligible if they were recorded here, demanded a glass of liquor. +</p> + +<p> +“And mind you don’t poison it,” said Mr. Sikes, laying his hat upon the table. +</p> + +<p> +This was said in jest; but if the speaker could have seen the evil leer with +which the Jew bit his pale lip as he turned round to the cupboard, he might +have thought the caution not wholly unnecessary, or the wish (at all events) to +improve upon the distiller’s ingenuity not very far from the old gentleman’s +merry heart. +</p> + +<p> +After swallowing two of three glasses of spirits, Mr. Sikes condescended to +take some notice of the young gentlemen; which gracious act led to a +conversation, in which the cause and manner of Oliver’s capture were +circumstantially detailed, with such alterations and improvements on the truth, +as to the Dodger appeared most advisable under the circumstances. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid,” said the Jew, “that he may say something which will get us into +trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s very likely,” returned Sikes with a malicious grin. “You’re blowed +upon, Fagin.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I’m afraid, you see,” added the Jew, speaking as if he had not noticed the +interruption; and regarding the other closely as he did so,—“I’m afraid that, +if the game was up with us, it might be up with a good many more, and that it +would come out rather worse for you than it would for me, my dear.” +</p> + +<p> +The man started, and turned round upon the Jew. But the old gentleman’s +shoulders were shrugged up to his ears; and his eyes were vacantly staring on +the opposite wall. +</p> + +<p> +There was a long pause. Every member of the respectable coterie appeared +plunged in his own reflections; not excepting the dog, who by a certain +malicious licking of his lips seemed to be meditating an attack upon the legs +of the first gentleman or lady he might encounter in the streets when he went +out. +</p> + +<p> +“Somebody must find out wot’s been done at the office,” said Mr. Sikes in a +much lower tone than he had taken since he came in. +</p> + +<p> +The Jew nodded assent. +</p> + +<p> +“If he hasn’t peached, and is committed, there’s no fear till he comes out +again,” said Mr. Sikes, “and then he must be taken care on. You must get hold +of him somehow.” +</p> + +<p> +Again the Jew nodded. +</p> + +<p> +The prudence of this line of action, indeed, was obvious; but, unfortunately, +there was one very strong objection to its being adopted. This was, that the +Dodger, and Charley Bates, and Fagin, and Mr. William Sikes, happened, one and +all, to entertain a violent and deeply-rooted antipathy to going near a +police-office on any ground or pretext whatever. +</p> + +<p> +How long they might have sat and looked at each other, in a state of +uncertainty not the most pleasant of its kind, it is difficult to guess. It is +not necessary to make any guesses on the subject, however; for the sudden +entrance of the two young ladies whom Oliver had seen on a former occasion, +caused the conversation to flow afresh. +</p> + +<p> +“The very thing!” said the Jew. “Bet will go; won’t you, my dear?” +</p> + +<p> +“Wheres?” inquired the young lady. +</p> + +<p> +“Only just up to the office, my dear,” said the Jew coaxingly. +</p> + +<p> +It is due to the young lady to say that she did not positively affirm that she +would not, but that she merely expressed an emphatic and earnest desire to be +“blessed” if she would; a polite and delicate evasion of the request, which +shows the young lady to have been possessed of that natural good breeding which +cannot bear to inflict upon a fellow-creature, the pain of a direct and pointed +refusal. +</p> + +<p> +The Jew’s countenance fell. He turned from this young lady, who was gaily, not +to say gorgeously attired, in a red gown, green boots, and yellow curl-papers, +to the other female. +</p> + +<p> +“Nancy, my dear,” said the Jew in a soothing manner, “what do <i>you</i> say?” +</p> + +<p> +“That it won’t do; so it’s no use a-trying it on, Fagin,” replied Nancy. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean by that?” said Mr. Sikes, looking up in a surly manner. +</p> + +<p> +“What I say, Bill,” replied the lady collectedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you’re just the very person for it,” reasoned Mr. Sikes: “nobody about +here knows anything of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“And as I don’t want ’em to, neither,” replied Nancy in the same composed +manner, “it’s rather more no than yes with me, Bill.” +</p> + +<p> +“She’ll go, Fagin,” said Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +“No, she won’t, Fagin,” said Nancy. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, she will, Fagin,” said Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +And Mr. Sikes was right. By dint of alternate threats, promises, and bribes, +the lady in question was ultimately prevailed upon to undertake the commission. +She was not, indeed, withheld by the same considerations as her agreeable +friend; for, having recently removed into the neighbourhood of Field Lane from +the remote but genteel suburb of Ratcliffe, she was not under the same +apprehension of being recognised by any of her numerous acquaintances. +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly, with a clean white apron tied over her gown, and her curl-papers +tucked up under a straw bonnet,—both articles of dress being provided from the +Jew’s inexhaustible stock,—Miss Nancy prepared to issue forth on her errand. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop a minute, my dear,” said the Jew, producing, a little covered basket. +“Carry that in one hand. It looks more respectable, my dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“Give her a door-key to carry in her t’other one, Fagin,” said Sikes; “it looks +real and genivine like.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, my dear, so it does,” said the Jew, hanging a large street-door key +on the forefinger of the young lady’s right hand. “There; very good! Very good +indeed, my dear!” said the Jew, rubbing his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my brother! My poor, dear, sweet, innocent little brother!” exclaimed +Nancy, bursting into tears, and wringing the little basket and the street-door +key in an agony of distress. “What has become of him! Where have they taken him +to! Oh, do have pity, and tell me what’s been done with the dear boy, +gentlemen; do, gentlemen, if you please, gentlemen!” +</p> + +<p> +Having uttered those words in a most lamentable and heart-broken tone: to the +immeasurable delight of her hearers: Miss Nancy paused, winked to the company, +nodded smilingly round, and disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, she’s a clever girl, my dears,” said the Jew, turning round to his young +friends, and shaking his head gravely, as if in mute admonition to them to +follow the bright example they had just beheld. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s a honour to her sex,” said Mr. Sikes, filling his glass, and smiting the +table with his enormous fist. “Here’s her health, and wishing they was all like +her!” +</p> + +<p> +While these, and many other encomiums, were being passed on the accomplished +Nancy, that young lady made the best of her way to the police-office; whither, +notwithstanding a little natural timidity consequent upon walking through the +streets alone and unprotected, she arrived in perfect safety shortly +afterwards. +</p> + +<p> +Entering by the back way, she tapped softly with the key at one of the +cell-doors, and listened. There was no sound within: so she coughed and +listened again. Still there was no reply: so she spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Nolly, dear?” murmured Nancy in a gentle voice; “Nolly?” +</p> + +<p> +There was nobody inside but a miserable shoeless criminal, who had been taken +up for playing the flute, and who, the offence against society having been +clearly proved, had been very properly committed by Mr. Fang to the House of +Correction for one month; with the appropriate and amusing remark that since he +had so much breath to spare, it would be more wholesomely expended on the +treadmill than in a musical instrument. He made no answer: being occupied +mentally bewailing the loss of the flute, which had been confiscated for the +use of the county: so Nancy passed on to the next cell, and knocked there. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” cried a faint and feeble voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Is there a little boy here?” inquired Nancy, with a preliminary sob. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied the voice; “God forbid.” +</p> + +<p> +This was a vagrant of sixty-five, who was going to prison for <i>not</i> +playing the flute; or, in other words, for begging in the streets, and doing +nothing for his livelihood. In the next cell was another man, who was going to +the same prison for hawking tin saucepans without license; thereby doing +something for his living, in defiance of the Stamp-office. +</p> + +<p> +But, as neither of these criminals answered to the name of Oliver, or knew +anything about him, Nancy made straight up to the bluff officer in the striped +waistcoat; and with the most piteous wailings and lamentations, rendered more +piteous by a prompt and efficient use of the street-door key and the little +basket, demanded her own dear brother. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t got him, my dear,” said the old man. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is he?” screamed Nancy, in a distracted manner. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, the gentleman’s got him,” replied the officer. +</p> + +<p> +“What gentleman! Oh, gracious heavens! What gentleman?” exclaimed Nancy. +</p> + +<p> +In reply to this incoherent questioning, the old man informed the deeply +affected sister that Oliver had been taken ill in the office, and discharged in +consequence of a witness having proved the robbery to have been committed by +another boy, not in custody; and that the prosecutor had carried him away, in +an insensible condition, to his own residence: of and concerning which, all the +informant knew was, that it was somewhere in Pentonville, he having heard that +word mentioned in the directions to the coachman. +</p> + +<p> +In a dreadful state of doubt and uncertainty, the agonised young woman +staggered to the gate, and then, exchanging her faltering walk for a swift run, +returned by the most devious and complicated route she could think of, to the +domicile of the Jew. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bill Sikes no sooner heard the account of the expedition delivered, than he +very hastily called up the white dog, and, putting on his hat, expeditiously +departed: without devoting any time to the formality of wishing the company +good-morning. +</p> + +<p> +“We must know where he is, my dears; he must be found,” said the Jew greatly +excited. “Charley, do nothing but skulk about, till you bring home some news of +him! Nancy, my dear, I must have him found. I trust to you, my dear,—to you and +the Artful for everything! Stay, stay,” added the Jew, unlocking a drawer with +a shaking hand; “there’s money, my dears. I shall shut up this shop tonight. +You’ll know where to find me! Don’t stop here a minute. Not an instant, my +dears!” +</p> + +<p> +With these words, he pushed them from the room: and carefully double-locking +and barring the door behind them, drew from its place of concealment the box +which he had unintentionally disclosed to Oliver. Then, he hastily proceeded to +dispose the watches and jewellery beneath his clothing. +</p> + +<p> +A rap at the door startled him in this occupation. “Who’s there?” he cried in a +shrill tone. +</p> + +<p> +“Me!” replied the voice of the Dodger, through the key-hole. +</p> + +<p> +“What now?” cried the Jew impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +“Is he to be kidnapped to the other ken, Nancy says?” inquired the Dodger. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied the Jew, “wherever she lays hands on him. Find him, find him +out, that’s all. I shall know what to do next; never fear.” +</p> + +<p> +The boy murmured a reply of intelligence: and hurried downstairs after his +companions. +</p> + +<p> +“He has not peached so far,” said the Jew as he pursued his occupation. “If he +means to blab us among his new friends, we may stop his mouth yet.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a> CHAPTER XIV.<br/> +COMPRISING FURTHER PARTICULARS OF OLIVER’S STAY AT MR. BROWNLOW’S, WITH THE +REMARKABLE PREDICTION WHICH ONE MR. GRIMWIG UTTERED CONCERNING HIM, WHEN HE +WENT OUT ON AN ERRAND</h2> + +<p> +Oliver soon recovering from the fainting-fit into which Mr. Brownlow’s abrupt +exclamation had thrown him, the subject of the picture was carefully avoided, +both by the old gentleman and Mrs. Bedwin, in the conversation that ensued: +which indeed bore no reference to Oliver’s history or prospects, but was +confined to such topics as might amuse without exciting him. He was still too +weak to get up to breakfast; but, when he came down into the housekeeper’s room +next day, his first act was to cast an eager glance at the wall, in the hope of +again looking on the face of the beautiful lady. His expectations were +disappointed, however, for the picture had been removed. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said the housekeeper, watching the direction of Oliver’s eyes. “It is +gone, you see.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see it is ma’am,” replied Oliver. “Why have they taken it away?” +</p> + +<p> +“It has been taken down, child, because Mr. Brownlow said, that as it seemed to +worry you, perhaps it might prevent your getting well, you know,” rejoined the +old lady. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, indeed. It didn’t worry me, ma’am,” said Oliver. “I liked to see it. I +quite loved it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well!” said the old lady, good-humouredly; “you get well as fast as ever +you can, dear, and it shall be hung up again. There! I promise you that! Now, +let us talk about something else.” +</p> + +<p> +This was all the information Oliver could obtain about the picture at that +time. As the old lady had been so kind to him in his illness, he endeavoured to +think no more of the subject just then; so he listened attentively to a great +many stories she told him, about an amiable and handsome daughter of hers, who +was married to an amiable and handsome man, and lived in the country; and about +a son, who was clerk to a merchant in the West Indies; and who was, also, such +a good young man, and wrote such dutiful letters home four times a year, that +it brought the tears into her eyes to talk about them. When the old lady had +expatiated, a long time, on the excellences of her children, and the merits of +her kind good husband besides, who had been dead and gone, poor dear soul! just +six-and-twenty years, it was time to have tea. After tea she began to teach +Oliver cribbage: which he learnt as quickly as she could teach: and at which +game they played, with great interest and gravity, until it was time for the +invalid to have some warm wine and water, with a slice of dry toast, and then +to go cosily to bed. +</p> + +<p> +They were happy days, those of Oliver’s recovery. Everything was so quiet, and +neat, and orderly; everybody so kind and gentle; that after the noise and +turbulence in the midst of which he had always lived, it seemed like Heaven +itself. He was no sooner strong enough to put his clothes on, properly, than +Mr. Brownlow caused a complete new suit, and a new cap, and a new pair of +shoes, to be provided for him. As Oliver was told that he might do what he +liked with the old clothes, he gave them to a servant who had been very kind to +him, and asked her to sell them to a Jew, and keep the money for herself. This +she very readily did; and, as Oliver looked out of the parlour window, and saw +the Jew roll them up in his bag and walk away, he felt quite delighted to think +that they were safely gone, and that there was now no possible danger of his +ever being able to wear them again. They were sad rags, to tell the truth; and +Oliver had never had a new suit before. +</p> + +<p> +One evening, about a week after the affair of the picture, as he was sitting +talking to Mrs. Bedwin, there came a message down from Mr. Brownlow, that if +Oliver Twist felt pretty well, he should like to see him in his study, and talk +to him a little while. +</p> + +<p> +“Bless us, and save us! Wash your hands, and let me part your hair nicely for +you, child,” said Mrs. Bedwin. “Dear heart alive! If we had known he would have +asked for you, we would have put you a clean collar on, and made you as smart +as sixpence!” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver did as the old lady bade him; and, although she lamented grievously, +meanwhile, that there was not even time to crimp the little frill that bordered +his shirt-collar; he looked so delicate and handsome, despite that important +personal advantage, that she went so far as to say: looking at him with great +complacency from head to foot, that she really didn’t think it would have been +possible, on the longest notice, to have made much difference in him for the +better. +</p> + +<p> +Thus encouraged, Oliver tapped at the study door. On Mr. Brownlow calling to +him to come in, he found himself in a little back room, quite full of books, +with a window, looking into some pleasant little gardens. There was a table +drawn up before the window, at which Mr. Brownlow was seated reading. When he +saw Oliver, he pushed the book away from him, and told him to come near the +table, and sit down. Oliver complied; marvelling where the people could be +found to read such a great number of books as seemed to be written to make the +world wiser. Which is still a marvel to more experienced people than Oliver +Twist, every day of their lives. +</p> + +<p> +“There are a good many books, are there not, my boy?” said Mr. Brownlow, +observing the curiosity with which Oliver surveyed the shelves that reached +from the floor to the ceiling. +</p> + +<p> +“A great number, sir,” replied Oliver. “I never saw so many.” +</p> + +<p> +“You shall read them, if you behave well,” said the old gentleman kindly; “and +you will like that, better than looking at the outsides,—that is, some cases; +because there are books of which the backs and covers are by far the best +parts.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose they are those heavy ones, sir,” said Oliver, pointing to some large +quartos, with a good deal of gilding about the binding. +</p> + +<p> +“Not always those,” said the old gentleman, patting Oliver on the head, and +smiling as he did so; “there are other equally heavy ones, though of a much +smaller size. How should you like to grow up a clever man, and write books, +eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I would rather read them, sir,” replied Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“What! wouldn’t you like to be a book-writer?” said the old gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver considered a little while; and at last said, he should think it would be +a much better thing to be a book-seller; upon which the old gentleman laughed +heartily, and declared he had said a very good thing. Which Oliver felt glad to +have done, though he by no means knew what it was. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well,” said the old gentleman, composing his features. “Don’t be afraid! +We won’t make an author of you, while there’s an honest trade to be learnt, or +brick-making to turn to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir,” said Oliver. At the earnest manner of his reply, the old +gentleman laughed again; and said something about a curious instinct, which +Oliver, not understanding, paid no very great attention to. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said Mr. Brownlow, speaking if possible in a kinder, but at the same +time in a much more serious manner, than Oliver had ever known him assume yet, +“I want you to pay great attention, my boy, to what I am going to say. I shall +talk to you without any reserve; because I am sure you are well able to +understand me, as many older persons would be.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t tell you are going to send me away, sir, pray!” exclaimed Oliver, +alarmed at the serious tone of the old gentleman’s commencement! “Don’t turn me +out of doors to wander in the streets again. Let me stay here, and be a +servant. Don’t send me back to the wretched place I came from. Have mercy upon +a poor boy, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear child,” said the old gentleman, moved by the warmth of Oliver’s sudden +appeal; “you need not be afraid of my deserting you, unless you give me cause.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never, never will, sir,” interposed Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope not,” rejoined the old gentleman. “I do not think you ever will. I have +been deceived, before, in the objects whom I have endeavoured to benefit; but I +feel strongly disposed to trust you, nevertheless; and I am more interested in +your behalf than I can well account for, even to myself. The persons on whom I +have bestowed my dearest love, lie deep in their graves; but, although the +happiness and delight of my life lie buried there too, I have not made a coffin +of my heart, and sealed it up, forever, on my best affections. Deep affliction +has but strengthened and refined them.” +</p> + +<p> +As the old gentleman said this in a low voice: more to himself than to his +companion: and as he remained silent for a short time afterwards: Oliver sat +quite still. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well!” said the old gentleman at length, in a more cheerful tone, “I +only say this, because you have a young heart; and knowing that I have suffered +great pain and sorrow, you will be more careful, perhaps, not to wound me +again. You say you are an orphan, without a friend in the world; all the +inquiries I have been able to make, confirm the statement. Let me hear your +story; where you come from; who brought you up; and how you got into the +company in which I found you. Speak the truth, and you shall not be friendless +while I live.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver’s sobs checked his utterance for some minutes; when he was on the point +of beginning to relate how he had been brought up at the farm, and carried to +the workhouse by Mr. Bumble, a peculiarly impatient little double-knock was +heard at the street-door: and the servant, running upstairs, announced Mr. +Grimwig. +</p> + +<p> +“Is he coming up?” inquired Mr. Brownlow. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” replied the servant. “He asked if there were any muffins in the +house; and, when I told him yes, he said he had come to tea.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brownlow smiled; and, turning to Oliver, said that Mr. Grimwig was an old +friend of his, and he must not mind his being a little rough in his manners; +for he was a worthy creature at bottom, as he had reason to know. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I go downstairs, sir?” inquired Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied Mr. Brownlow, “I would rather you remained here.” +</p> + +<p> +At this moment, there walked into the room: supporting himself by a thick +stick: a stout old gentleman, rather lame in one leg, who was dressed in a blue +coat, striped waistcoat, nankeen breeches and gaiters, and a broad-brimmed +white hat, with the sides turned up with green. A very small-plaited shirt +frill stuck out from his waistcoat; and a very long steel watch-chain, with +nothing but a key at the end, dangled loosely below it. The ends of his white +neckerchief were twisted into a ball about the size of an orange; the variety +of shapes into which his countenance was twisted, defy description. He had a +manner of screwing his head on one side when he spoke; and of looking out of +the corners of his eyes at the same time: which irresistibly reminded the +beholder of a parrot. In this attitude, he fixed himself, the moment he made +his appearance; and, holding out a small piece of orange-peel at arm’s length, +exclaimed, in a growling, discontented voice, +</p> + +<p> +“Look here! do you see this! Isn’t it a most wonderful and extraordinary thing +that I can’t call at a man’s house but I find a piece of this poor surgeon’s +friend on the staircase? I’ve been lamed with orange-peel once, and I know +orange-peel will be my death, or I’ll be content to eat my own head, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +This was the handsome offer with which Mr. Grimwig backed and confirmed nearly +every assertion he made; and it was the more singular in his case, because, +even admitting for the sake of argument, the possibility of scientific +improvements being brought to that pass which will enable a gentleman to eat +his own head in the event of his being so disposed, Mr. Grimwig’s head was such +a particularly large one, that the most sanguine man alive could hardly +entertain a hope of being able to get through it at a sitting—to put entirely +out of the question, a very thick coating of powder. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll eat my head, sir,” repeated Mr. Grimwig, striking his stick upon the +ground. “Hallo! what’s that!” looking at Oliver, and retreating a pace or two. +</p> + +<p> +“This is young Oliver Twist, whom we were speaking about,” said Mr. Brownlow. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver bowed. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean to say that’s the boy who had the fever, I hope?” said Mr. +Grimwig, recoiling a little more. “Wait a minute! Don’t speak! Stop—” continued +Mr. Grimwig, abruptly, losing all dread of the fever in his triumph at the +discovery; “that’s the boy who had the orange! If that’s not the boy, sir, who +had the orange, and threw this bit of peel upon the staircase, I’ll eat my +head, and his too.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, he has not had one,” said Mr. Brownlow, laughing. “Come! Put down your +hat; and speak to my young friend.” +</p> + +<p> +“I feel strongly on this subject, sir,” said the irritable old gentleman, +drawing off his gloves. “There’s always more or less orange-peel on the +pavement in our street; and I <i>know</i> it’s put there by the surgeon’s boy +at the corner. A young woman stumbled over a bit last night, and fell against +my garden-railings; directly she got up I saw her look towards his infernal red +lamp with the pantomime-light. ‘Don’t go to him,’ I called out of the window, +‘he’s an assassin! A man-trap!’ So he is. If he is not—” Here the irascible old +gentleman gave a great knock on the ground with his stick; which was always +understood, by his friends, to imply the customary offer, whenever it was not +expressed in words. Then, still keeping his stick in his hand, he sat down; +and, opening a double eye-glass, which he wore attached to a broad black +riband, took a view of Oliver: who, seeing that he was the object of +inspection, coloured, and bowed again. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the boy, is it?” said Mr. Grimwig, at length. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the boy,” replied Mr. Brownlow. +</p> + +<p> +“How are you, boy?” said Mr. Grimwig. +</p> + +<p> +“A great deal better, thank you, sir,” replied Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brownlow, seeming to apprehend that his singular friend was about to say +something disagreeable, asked Oliver to step downstairs and tell Mrs. Bedwin +they were ready for tea; which, as he did not half like the visitor’s manner, +he was very happy to do. +</p> + +<p> +“He is a nice-looking boy, is he not?” inquired Mr. Brownlow. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” replied Mr. Grimwig, pettishly. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t know?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I don’t know. I never see any difference in boys. I only knew two sort of +boys. Mealy boys, and beef-faced boys.” +</p> + +<p> +“And which is Oliver?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mealy. I know a friend who has a beef-faced boy; a fine boy, they call him; +with a round head, and red cheeks, and glaring eyes; a horrid boy; with a body +and limbs that appear to be swelling out of the seams of his blue clothes; with +the voice of a pilot, and the appetite of a wolf. I know him! The wretch!” +</p> + +<p> +“Come,” said Mr. Brownlow, “these are not the characteristics of young Oliver +Twist; so he needn’t excite your wrath.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are not,” replied Mr. Grimwig. “He may have worse.” +</p> + +<p> +Here, Mr. Brownlow coughed impatiently; which appeared to afford Mr. Grimwig +the most exquisite delight. +</p> + +<p> +“He may have worse, I say,” repeated Mr. Grimwig. “Where does he come from! Who +is he? What is he? He has had a fever. What of that? Fevers are not peculiar to +good people; are they? Bad people have fevers sometimes; haven’t they, eh? I +knew a man who was hung in Jamaica for murdering his master. He had had a fever +six times; he wasn’t recommended to mercy on that account. Pooh! nonsense!” +</p> + +<p> +Now, the fact was, that in the inmost recesses of his own heart, Mr. Grimwig +was strongly disposed to admit that Oliver’s appearance and manner were +unusually prepossessing; but he had a strong appetite for contradiction, +sharpened on this occasion by the finding of the orange-peel; and, inwardly +determining that no man should dictate to him whether a boy was well-looking or +not, he had resolved, from the first, to oppose his friend. When Mr. Brownlow +admitted that on no one point of inquiry could he yet return a satisfactory +answer; and that he had postponed any investigation into Oliver’s previous +history until he thought the boy was strong enough to hear it; Mr. Grimwig +chuckled maliciously. And he demanded, with a sneer, whether the housekeeper +was in the habit of counting the plate at night; because if she didn’t find a +table-spoon or two missing some sunshiny morning, why, he would be content +to—and so forth. +</p> + +<p> +All this, Mr. Brownlow, although himself somewhat of an impetuous gentleman: +knowing his friend’s peculiarities, bore with great good humour; as Mr. +Grimwig, at tea, was graciously pleased to express his entire approval of the +muffins, matters went on very smoothly; and Oliver, who made one of the party, +began to feel more at his ease than he had yet done in the fierce old +gentleman’s presence. +</p> + +<p> +“And when are you going to hear a full, true, and particular account of the +life and adventures of Oliver Twist?” asked Grimwig of Mr. Brownlow, at the +conclusion of the meal; looking sideways at Oliver, as he resumed his subject. +</p> + +<p> +“Tomorrow morning,” replied Mr. Brownlow. “I would rather he was alone with me +at the time. Come up to me tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, my dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” replied Oliver. He answered with some hesitation, because he was +confused by Mr. Grimwig’s looking so hard at him. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you what,” whispered that gentleman to Mr. Brownlow; “he won’t come +up to you tomorrow morning. I saw him hesitate. He is deceiving you, my good +friend.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll swear he is not,” replied Mr. Brownlow, warmly. +</p> + +<p> +“If he is not,” said Mr. Grimwig, “I’ll—” and down went the stick. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll answer for that boy’s truth with my life!” said Mr. Brownlow, knocking +the table. +</p> + +<p> +“And I for his falsehood with my head!” rejoined Mr. Grimwig, knocking the +table also. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall see,” said Mr. Brownlow, checking his rising anger. +</p> + +<p> +“We will,” replied Mr. Grimwig, with a provoking smile; “we will.” +</p> + +<p> +As fate would have it, Mrs. Bedwin chanced to bring in, at this moment, a small +parcel of books, which Mr. Brownlow had that morning purchased of the identical +bookstall-keeper, who has already figured in this history; having laid them on +the table, she prepared to leave the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop the boy, Mrs. Bedwin!” said Mr. Brownlow; “there is something to go +back.” +</p> + +<p> +“He has gone, sir,” replied Mrs. Bedwin. +</p> + +<p> +“Call after him,” said Mr. Brownlow; “it’s particular. He is a poor man, and +they are not paid for. There are some books to be taken back, too.” +</p> + +<p> +The street-door was opened. Oliver ran one way; and the girl ran another; and +Mrs. Bedwin stood on the step and screamed for the boy; but there was no boy in +sight. Oliver and the girl returned, in a breathless state, to report that +there were no tidings of him. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear me, I am very sorry for that,” exclaimed Mr. Brownlow; “I particularly +wished those books to be returned tonight.” +</p> + +<p> +“Send Oliver with them,” said Mr. Grimwig, with an ironical smile; “he will be +sure to deliver them safely, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; do let me take them, if you please, sir,” said Oliver. “I’ll run all the +way, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +The old gentleman was just going to say that Oliver should not go out on any +account; when a most malicious cough from Mr. Grimwig determined him that he +should; and that, by his prompt discharge of the commission, he should prove to +him the injustice of his suspicions: on this head at least: at once. +</p> + +<p> +“You <i>shall</i> go, my dear,” said the old gentleman. “The books are on a +chair by my table. Fetch them down.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver, delighted to be of use, brought down the books under his arm in a great +bustle; and waited, cap in hand, to hear what message he was to take. +</p> + +<p> +“You are to say,” said Mr. Brownlow, glancing steadily at Grimwig; “you are to +say that you have brought those books back; and that you have come to pay the +four pound ten I owe him. This is a five-pound note, so you will have to bring +me back, ten shillings change.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t be ten minutes, sir,” said Oliver, eagerly. Having buttoned up the +bank-note in his jacket pocket, and placed the books carefully under his arm, +he made a respectful bow, and left the room. Mrs. Bedwin followed him to the +street-door, giving him many directions about the nearest way, and the name of +the bookseller, and the name of the street: all of which Oliver said he clearly +understood. Having superadded many injunctions to be sure and not take cold, +the old lady at length permitted him to depart. +</p> + +<p> +“Bless his sweet face!” said the old lady, looking after him. “I can’t bear, +somehow, to let him go out of my sight.” +</p> + +<p> +At this moment, Oliver looked gaily round, and nodded before he turned the +corner. The old lady smilingly returned his salutation, and, closing the door, +went back to her own room. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me see; he’ll be back in twenty minutes, at the longest,” said Mr. +Brownlow, pulling out his watch, and placing it on the table. “It will be dark +by that time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! you really expect him to come back, do you?” inquired Mr. Grimwig. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you?” asked Mr. Brownlow, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +The spirit of contradiction was strong in Mr. Grimwig’s breast, at the moment; +and it was rendered stronger by his friend’s confident smile. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said, smiting the table with his fist, “I do not. The boy has a new +suit of clothes on his back, a set of valuable books under his arm, and a +five-pound note in his pocket. He’ll join his old friends the thieves, and +laugh at you. If ever that boy returns to this house, sir, I’ll eat my head.” +</p> + +<p> +With these words he drew his chair closer to the table; and there the two +friends sat, in silent expectation, with the watch between them. +</p> + +<p> +It is worthy of remark, as illustrating the importance we attach to our own +judgments, and the pride with which we put forth our most rash and hasty +conclusions, that, although Mr. Grimwig was not by any means a bad-hearted man, +and though he would have been unfeignedly sorry to see his respected friend +duped and deceived, he really did most earnestly and strongly hope at that +moment, that Oliver Twist might not come back. +</p> + +<p> +It grew so dark, that the figures on the dial-plate were scarcely discernible; +but there the two old gentlemen continued to sit, in silence, with the watch +between them. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a> CHAPTER XV.<br/> +SHOWING HOW VERY FOND OF OLIVER TWIST, THE MERRY OLD JEW AND MISS NANCY +WERE</h2> + +<p> +In the obscure parlour of a low public-house, in the filthiest part of Little +Saffron Hill; a dark and gloomy den, where a flaring gas-light burnt all day in +the winter-time; and where no ray of sun ever shone in the summer: there sat, +brooding over a little pewter measure and a small glass, strongly impregnated +with the smell of liquor, a man in a velveteen coat, drab shorts, half-boots +and stockings, whom even by that dim light no experienced agent of the police +would have hesitated to recognise as Mr. William Sikes. At his feet, sat a +white-coated, red-eyed dog; who occupied himself, alternately, in winking at +his master with both eyes at the same time; and in licking a large, fresh cut +on one side of his mouth, which appeared to be the result of some recent +conflict. +</p> + +<p> +“Keep quiet, you warmint! Keep quiet!” said Mr. Sikes, suddenly breaking +silence. Whether his meditations were so intense as to be disturbed by the +dog’s winking, or whether his feelings were so wrought upon by his reflections +that they required all the relief derivable from kicking an unoffending animal +to allay them, is matter for argument and consideration. Whatever was the +cause, the effect was a kick and a curse, bestowed upon the dog simultaneously. +</p> + +<p> +Dogs are not generally apt to revenge injuries inflicted upon them by their +masters; but Mr. Sikes’s dog, having faults of temper in common with his owner, +and labouring, perhaps, at this moment, under a powerful sense of injury, made +no more ado but at once fixed his teeth in one of the half-boots. Having given +in a hearty shake, he retired, growling, under a form; just escaping the pewter +measure which Mr. Sikes levelled at his head. +</p> + +<p> +“You would, would you?” said Sikes, seizing the poker in one hand, and +deliberately opening with the other a large clasp-knife, which he drew from his +pocket. “Come here, you born devil! Come here! D’ye hear?” +</p> + +<p> +The dog no doubt heard; because Mr. Sikes spoke in the very harshest key of a +very harsh voice; but, appearing to entertain some unaccountable objection to +having his throat cut, he remained where he was, and growled more fiercely than +before: at the same time grasping the end of the poker between his teeth, and +biting at it like a wild beast. +</p> + +<p> +This resistance only infuriated Mr. Sikes the more; who, dropping on his knees, +began to assail the animal most furiously. The dog jumped from right to left, +and from left to right; snapping, growling, and barking; the man thrust and +swore, and struck and blasphemed; and the struggle was reaching a most critical +point for one or other; when, the door suddenly opening, the dog darted out: +leaving Bill Sikes with the poker and the clasp-knife in his hands. +</p> + +<p> +There must always be two parties to a quarrel, says the old adage. Mr. Sikes, +being disappointed of the dog’s participation, at once transferred his share in +the quarrel to the new comer. +</p> + +<p> +“What the devil do you come in between me and my dog for?” said Sikes, with a +fierce gesture. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know, my dear, I didn’t know,” replied Fagin, humbly; for the Jew was +the new comer. +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t know, you white-livered thief!” growled Sikes. “Couldn’t you hear the +noise?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a sound of it, as I’m a living man, Bill,” replied the Jew. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh no! You hear nothing, you don’t,” retorted Sikes with a fierce sneer. +“Sneaking in and out, so as nobody hears how you come or go! I wish you had +been the dog, Fagin, half a minute ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” inquired the Jew with a forced smile. +</p> + +<p> +“’Cause the government, as cares for the lives of such men as you, as haven’t +half the pluck of curs, lets a man kill a dog how he likes,” replied Sikes, +shutting up the knife with a very expressive look; “that’s why.” +</p> + +<p> +The Jew rubbed his hands; and, sitting down at the table, affected to laugh at +the pleasantry of his friend. He was obviously very ill at ease, however. +</p> + +<p> +“Grin away,” said Sikes, replacing the poker, and surveying him with savage +contempt; “grin away. You’ll never have the laugh at me, though, unless it’s +behind a nightcap. I’ve got the upper hand over you, Fagin; and, d—me, I’ll +keep it. There! If I go, you go; so take care of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well, my dear,” said the Jew, “I know all that; we—we—have a mutual +interest, Bill,—a mutual interest.” +</p> + +<p> +“Humph,” said Sikes, as if he thought the interest lay rather more on the Jew’s +side than on his. “Well, what have you got to say to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all passed safe through the melting-pot,” replied Fagin, “and this is +your share. It’s rather more than it ought to be, my dear; but as I know you’ll +do me a good turn another time, and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Stow that gammon,” interposed the robber, impatiently. “Where is it? Hand +over!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, Bill; give me time, give me time,” replied the Jew, soothingly. +“Here it is! All safe!” As he spoke, he drew forth an old cotton handkerchief +from his breast; and untying a large knot in one corner, produced a small +brown-paper packet. Sikes, snatching it from him, hastily opened it; and +proceeded to count the sovereigns it contained. +</p> + +<p> +“This is all, is it?” inquired Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +“All,” replied the Jew. +</p> + +<p> +“You haven’t opened the parcel and swallowed one or two as you come along, have +you?” inquired Sikes, suspiciously. “Don’t put on an injured look at the +question; you’ve done it many a time. Jerk the tinkler.” +</p> + +<p> +These words, in plain English, conveyed an injunction to ring the bell. It was +answered by another Jew: younger than Fagin, but nearly as vile and repulsive +in appearance. +</p> + +<p> +Bill Sikes merely pointed to the empty measure. The Jew, perfectly +understanding the hint, retired to fill it: previously exchanging a remarkable +look with Fagin, who raised his eyes for an instant, as if in expectation of +it, and shook his head in reply; so slightly that the action would have been +almost imperceptible to an observant third person. It was lost upon Sikes, who +was stooping at the moment to tie the boot-lace which the dog had torn. +Possibly, if he had observed the brief interchange of signals, he might have +thought that it boded no good to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Is anybody here, Barney?” inquired Fagin; speaking, now that Sikes was looking +on, without raising his eyes from the ground. +</p> + +<p> +“Dot a shoul,” replied Barney; whose words: whether they came from the heart or +not: made their way through the nose. +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody?” inquired Fagin, in a tone of surprise: which perhaps might mean that +Barney was at liberty to tell the truth. +</p> + +<p> +“Dobody but Biss Dadsy,” replied Barney. +</p> + +<p> +“Nancy!” exclaimed Sikes. “Where? Strike me blind, if I don’t honour that ’ere +girl, for her native talents.” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s bid havid a plate of boiled beef id the bar,” replied Barney. +</p> + +<p> +“Send her here,” said Sikes, pouring out a glass of liquor. “Send her here.” +</p> + +<p> +Barney looked timidly at Fagin, as if for permission; the Jew remaining silent, +and not lifting his eyes from the ground, he retired; and presently returned, +ushering in Nancy; who was decorated with the bonnet, apron, basket, and +street-door key, complete. +</p> + +<p> +“You are on the scent, are you, Nancy?” inquired Sikes, proffering the glass. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I am, Bill,” replied the young lady, disposing of its contents; “and +tired enough of it I am, too. The young brat’s been ill and confined to the +crib; and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Nancy, dear!” said Fagin, looking up. +</p> + +<p> +Now, whether a peculiar contraction of the Jew’s red eye-brows, and a half +closing of his deeply-set eyes, warned Miss Nancy that she was disposed to be +too communicative, is not a matter of much importance. The fact is all we need +care for here; and the fact is, that she suddenly checked herself, and with +several gracious smiles upon Mr. Sikes, turned the conversation to other +matters. In about ten minutes’ time, Mr. Fagin was seized with a fit of +coughing; upon which Nancy pulled her shawl over her shoulders, and declared it +was time to go. Mr. Sikes, finding that he was walking a short part of her way +himself, expressed his intention of accompanying her; they went away together, +followed, at a little distant, by the dog, who slunk out of a back-yard as soon +as his master was out of sight. +</p> + +<p> +The Jew thrust his head out of the room door when Sikes had left it; looked +after him as he walked up the dark passage; shook his clenched fist; muttered a +deep curse; and then, with a horrible grin, reseated himself at the table; +where he was soon deeply absorbed in the interesting pages of the Hue-and-Cry. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, Oliver Twist, little dreaming that he was within so very short a +distance of the merry old gentleman, was on his way to the book-stall. When he +got into Clerkenwell, he accidently turned down a by-street which was not +exactly in his way; but not discovering his mistake until he had got half-way +down it, and knowing it must lead in the right direction, he did not think it +worth while to turn back; and so marched on, as quickly as he could, with the +books under his arm. +</p> + +<p> +He was walking along, thinking how happy and contented he ought to feel; and +how much he would give for only one look at poor little Dick, who, starved and +beaten, might be weeping bitterly at that very moment; when he was startled by +a young woman screaming out very loud. “Oh, my dear brother!” And he had hardly +looked up, to see what the matter was, when he was stopped by having a pair of +arms thrown tight round his neck. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t,” cried Oliver, struggling. “Let go of me. Who is it? What are you +stopping me for?” +</p> + +<p> +The only reply to this, was a great number of loud lamentations from the young +woman who had embraced him; and who had a little basket and a street-door key +in her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh my gracious!” said the young woman, “I have found him! Oh! Oliver! Oliver! +Oh you naughty boy, to make me suffer such distress on your account! Come home, +dear, come. Oh, I’ve found him. Thank gracious goodness heavins, I’ve found +him!” With these incoherent exclamations, the young woman burst into another +fit of crying, and got so dreadfully hysterical, that a couple of women who +came up at the moment asked a butcher’s boy with a shiny head of hair anointed +with suet, who was also looking on, whether he didn’t think he had better run +for the doctor. To which, the butcher’s boy: who appeared of a lounging, not to +say indolent disposition: replied, that he thought not. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, no, never mind,” said the young woman, grasping Oliver’s hand; “I’m +better now. Come home directly, you cruel boy! Come!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, ma’am,” replied the young woman, “he ran away, near a month ago, from his +parents, who are hard-working and respectable people; and went and joined a set +of thieves and bad characters; and almost broke his mother’s heart.” +</p> + +<p> +“Young wretch!” said one woman. +</p> + +<p> +“Go home, do, you little brute,” said the other. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not,” replied Oliver, greatly alarmed. “I don’t know her. I haven’t any +sister, or father and mother either. I’m an orphan; I live at Pentonville.” +</p> + +<p> +“Only hear him, how he braves it out!” cried the young woman. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, it’s Nancy!” exclaimed Oliver; who now saw her face for the first time; +and started back, in irrepressible astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +“You see he knows me!” cried Nancy, appealing to the bystanders. “He can’t help +himself. Make him come home, there’s good people, or he’ll kill his dear mother +and father, and break my heart!” +</p> + +<p> +“What the devil’s this?” said a man, bursting out of a beer-shop, with a white +dog at his heels; “young Oliver! Come home to your poor mother, you young dog! +Come home directly.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t belong to them. I don’t know them. Help! help!” cried Oliver, +struggling in the man’s powerful grasp. +</p> + +<p> +“Help!” repeated the man. “Yes; I’ll help you, you young rascal! What books are +these? You’ve been a stealing ’em, have you? Give ’em here.” With these words, +the man tore the volumes from his grasp, and struck him on the head. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right!” cried a looker-on, from a garret-window. “That’s the only way +of bringing him to his senses!” +</p> + +<p> +“To be sure!” cried a sleepy-faced carpenter, casting an approving look at the +garret-window. +</p> + +<p> +“It’ll do him good!” said the two women. +</p> + +<p> +“And he shall have it, too!” rejoined the man, administering another blow, and +seizing Oliver by the collar. “Come on, you young villain! Here, Bull’s-eye, +mind him, boy! Mind him!” +</p> + +<p> +Weak with recent illness; stupified by the blows and the suddenness of the +attack; terrified by the fierce growling of the dog, and the brutality of the +man; overpowered by the conviction of the bystanders that he really was the +hardened little wretch he was described to be; what could one poor child do! +Darkness had set in; it was a low neighbourhood; no help was near; resistance +was useless. In another moment he was dragged into a labyrinth of dark narrow +courts, and was forced along them at a pace which rendered the few cries he +dared to give utterance to, unintelligible. It was of little moment, indeed, +whether they were intelligible or no; for there was nobody to care for them, +had they been ever so plain. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +The gas-lamps were lighted; Mrs. Bedwin was waiting anxiously at the open door; +the servant had run up the street twenty times to see if there were any traces +of Oliver; and still the two old gentlemen sat, perseveringly, in the dark +parlour, with the watch between them. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a> CHAPTER XVI.<br/> +RELATES WHAT BECAME OF OLIVER TWIST, AFTER HE HAD BEEN CLAIMED BY NANCY</h2> + +<p> +The narrow streets and courts, at length, terminated in a large open space; +scattered about which, were pens for beasts, and other indications of a +cattle-market. Sikes slackened his pace when they reached this spot: the girl +being quite unable to support any longer, the rapid rate at which they had +hitherto walked. Turning to Oliver, he roughly commanded him to take hold of +Nancy’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you hear?” growled Sikes, as Oliver hesitated, and looked round. +</p> + +<p> +They were in a dark corner, quite out of the track of passengers. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver saw, but too plainly, that resistance would be of no avail. He held out +his hand, which Nancy clasped tight in hers. +</p> + +<p> +“Give me the other,” said Sikes, seizing Oliver’s unoccupied hand. “Here, +Bull’s-Eye!” +</p> + +<p> +The dog looked up, and growled. +</p> + +<p> +“See here, boy!” said Sikes, putting his other hand to Oliver’s throat; “if he +speaks ever so soft a word, hold him! D’ye mind!” +</p> + +<p> +The dog growled again; and licking his lips, eyed Oliver as if he were anxious +to attach himself to his windpipe without delay. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s as willing as a Christian, strike me blind if he isn’t!” said Sikes, +regarding the animal with a kind of grim and ferocious approval. “Now, you know +what you’ve got to expect, master, so call away as quick as you like; the dog +will soon stop that game. Get on, young ’un!” +</p> + +<p> +Bull’s-eye wagged his tail in acknowledgment of this unusually endearing form +of speech; and, giving vent to another admonitory growl for the benefit of +Oliver, led the way onward. +</p> + +<p> +It was Smithfield that they were crossing, although it might have been +Grosvenor Square, for anything Oliver knew to the contrary. The night was dark +and foggy. The lights in the shops could scarecely struggle through the heavy +mist, which thickened every moment and shrouded the streets and houses in +gloom; rendering the strange place still stranger in Oliver’s eyes; and making +his uncertainty the more dismal and depressing. +</p> + +<p> +They had hurried on a few paces, when a deep church-bell struck the hour. With +its first stroke, his two conductors stopped, and turned their heads in the +direction whence the sound proceeded. +</p> + +<p> +“Eight o’clock, Bill,” said Nancy, when the bell ceased. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the good of telling me that; I can hear it, can’t I?” replied Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder whether <i>they</i> can hear it,” said Nancy. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course they can,” replied Sikes. “It was Bartlemy time when I was shopped; +and there warn’t a penny trumpet in the fair, as I couldn’t hear the squeaking +on. Arter I was locked up for the night, the row and din outside made the +thundering old jail so silent, that I could almost have beat my brains out +against the iron plates of the door.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor fellow!” said Nancy, who still had her face turned towards the quarter in +which the bell had sounded. “Oh, Bill, such fine young chaps as them!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; that’s all you women think of,” answered Sikes. “Fine young chaps! Well, +they’re as good as dead, so it don’t much matter.” +</p> + +<p> +With this consolation, Mr. Sikes appeared to repress a rising tendency to +jealousy, and, clasping Oliver’s wrist more firmly, told him to step out again. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a minute!” said the girl: “I wouldn’t hurry by, if it was you that was +coming out to be hung, the next time eight o’clock struck, Bill. I’d walk round +and round the place till I dropped, if the snow was on the ground, and I hadn’t +a shawl to cover me.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what good would that do?” inquired the unsentimental Mr. Sikes. “Unless +you could pitch over a file and twenty yards of good stout rope, you might as +well be walking fifty mile off, or not walking at all, for all the good it +would do me. Come on, and don’t stand preaching there.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl burst into a laugh; drew her shawl more closely round her; and they +walked away. But Oliver felt her hand tremble, and, looking up in her face as +they passed a gas-lamp, saw that it had turned a deadly white. +</p> + +<p> +They walked on, by little-frequented and dirty ways, for a full half-hour: +meeting very few people, and those appearing from their looks to hold much the +same position in society as Mr. Sikes himself. At length they turned into a +very filthy narrow street, nearly full of old-clothes shops; the dog running +forward, as if conscious that there was no further occasion for his keeping on +guard, stopped before the door of a shop that was closed and apparently +untenanted; the house was in a ruinous condition, and on the door was nailed a +board, intimating that it was to let: which looked as if it had hung there for +many years. +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” cried Sikes, glancing cautiously about. +</p> + +<p> +Nancy stooped below the shutters, and Oliver heard the sound of a bell. They +crossed to the opposite side of the street, and stood for a few moments under a +lamp. A noise, as if a sash window were gently raised, was heard; and soon +afterwards the door softly opened. Mr. Sikes then seized the terrified boy by +the collar with very little ceremony; and all three were quickly inside the +house. +</p> + +<p> +The passage was perfectly dark. They waited, while the person who had let them +in, chained and barred the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Anybody here?” inquired Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied a voice, which Oliver thought he had heard before. +</p> + +<p> +“Is the old ’un here?” asked the robber. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied the voice, “and precious down in the mouth he has been. Won’t he +be glad to see you? Oh, no!” +</p> + +<p> +The style of this reply, as well as the voice which delivered it, seemed +familiar to Oliver’s ears: but it was impossible to distinguish even the form +of the speaker in the darkness. +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s have a glim,” said Sikes, “or we shall go breaking our necks, or +treading on the dog. Look after your legs if you do!” +</p> + +<p> +“Stand still a moment, and I’ll get you one,” replied the voice. The receding +footsteps of the speaker were heard; and, in another minute, the form of Mr. +John Dawkins, otherwise the Artful Dodger, appeared. He bore in his right hand +a tallow candle stuck in the end of a cleft stick. +</p> + +<p> +The young gentleman did not stop to bestow any other mark of recognition upon +Oliver than a humourous grin; but, turning away, beckoned the visitors to +follow him down a flight of stairs. They crossed an empty kitchen; and, opening +the door of a low earthy-smelling room, which seemed to have been built in a +small back-yard, were received with a shout of laughter. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my wig, my wig!” cried Master Charles Bates, from whose lungs the laughter +had proceeded: “here he is! oh, cry, here he is! Oh, Fagin, look at him! Fagin, +do look at him! I can’t bear it; it is such a jolly game, I can’t bear it. Hold +me, somebody, while I laugh it out.” +</p> + +<p> +With this irrepressible ebullition of mirth, Master Bates laid himself flat on +the floor: and kicked convulsively for five minutes, in an ectasy of facetious +joy. Then jumping to his feet, he snatched the cleft stick from the Dodger; +and, advancing to Oliver, viewed him round and round; while the Jew, taking off +his nightcap, made a great number of low bows to the bewildered boy. The +Artful, meantime, who was of a rather saturnine disposition, and seldom gave +way to merriment when it interfered with business, rifled Oliver’s pockets with +steady assiduity. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at his togs, Fagin!” said Charley, putting the light so close to his new +jacket as nearly to set him on fire. “Look at his togs! Superfine cloth, and +the heavy swell cut! Oh, my eye, what a game! And his books, too! Nothing but a +gentleman, Fagin!” +</p> + +<p> +“Delighted to see you looking so well, my dear,” said the Jew, bowing with mock +humility. “The Artful shall give you another suit, my dear, for fear you should +spoil that Sunday one. Why didn’t you write, my dear, and say you were coming? +We’d have got something warm for supper.” +</p> + +<p> +At his, Master Bates roared again: so loud, that Fagin himself relaxed, and +even the Dodger smiled; but as the Artful drew forth the five-pound note at +that instant, it is doubtful whether the sally of the discovery awakened his +merriment. +</p> + +<p> +“Hallo, what’s that?” inquired Sikes, stepping forward as the Jew seized the +note. “That’s mine, Fagin.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, my dear,” said the Jew. “Mine, Bill, mine. You shall have the books.” +</p> + +<p> +“If that ain’t mine!” said Bill Sikes, putting on his hat with a determined +air; “mine and Nancy’s that is; I’ll take the boy back again.” +</p> + +<p> +The Jew started. Oliver started too, though from a very different cause; for he +hoped that the dispute might really end in his being taken back. +</p> + +<p> +“Come! Hand over, will you?” said Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +“This is hardly fair, Bill; hardly fair, is it, Nancy?” inquired the Jew. +</p> + +<p> +“Fair, or not fair,” retorted Sikes, “hand over, I tell you! Do you think Nancy +and me has got nothing else to do with our precious time but to spend it in +scouting arter, and kidnapping, every young boy as gets grabbed through you? +Give it here, you avaricious old skeleton, give it here!” +</p> + +<p> +With this gentle remonstrance, Mr. Sikes plucked the note from between the +Jew’s finger and thumb; and looking the old man coolly in the face, folded it +up small, and tied it in his neckerchief. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s for our share of the trouble,” said Sikes; “and not half enough, +neither. You may keep the books, if you’re fond of reading. If you ain’t, sell +’em.” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re very pretty,” said Charley Bates: who, with sundry grimaces, had been +affecting to read one of the volumes in question; “beautiful writing, isn’t is, +Oliver?” At sight of the dismayed look with which Oliver regarded his +tormentors, Master Bates, who was blessed with a lively sense of the ludicrous, +fell into another ectasy, more boisterous than the first. +</p> + +<p> +“They belong to the old gentleman,” said Oliver, wringing his hands; “to the +good, kind, old gentleman who took me into his house, and had me nursed, when I +was near dying of the fever. Oh, pray send them back; send him back the books +and money. Keep me here all my life long; but pray, pray send them back. He’ll +think I stole them; the old lady: all of them who were so kind to me: will +think I stole them. Oh, do have mercy upon me, and send them back!” +</p> + +<p> +With these words, which were uttered with all the energy of passionate grief, +Oliver fell upon his knees at the Jew’s feet; and beat his hands together, in +perfect desperation. +</p> + +<p> +“The boy’s right,” remarked Fagin, looking covertly round, and knitting his +shaggy eyebrows into a hard knot. “You’re right, Oliver, you’re right; they +<i>will</i> think you have stolen ’em. Ha! ha!” chuckled the Jew, rubbing his +hands, “it couldn’t have happened better, if we had chosen our time!” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course it couldn’t,” replied Sikes; “I know’d that, directly I see him +coming through Clerkenwell, with the books under his arm. It’s all right +enough. They’re soft-hearted psalm-singers, or they wouldn’t have taken him in +at all; and they’ll ask no questions after him, fear they should be obliged to +prosecute, and so get him lagged. He’s safe enough.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver had looked from one to the other, while these words were being spoken, +as if he were bewildered, and could scarecely understand what passed; but when +Bill Sikes concluded, he jumped suddenly to his feet, and tore wildly from the +room: uttering shrieks for help, which made the bare old house echo to the +roof. +</p> + +<p> +“Keep back the dog, Bill!” cried Nancy, springing before the door, and closing +it, as the Jew and his two pupils darted out in pursuit. “Keep back the dog; +he’ll tear the boy to pieces.” +</p> + +<p> +“Serve him right!” cried Sikes, struggling to disengage himself from the girl’s +grasp. “Stand off from me, or I’ll split your head against the wall.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care for that, Bill, I don’t care for that,” screamed the girl, +struggling violently with the man, “the child shan’t be torn down by the dog, +unless you kill me first.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shan’t he!” said Sikes, setting his teeth. “I’ll soon do that, if you don’t +keep off.” +</p> + +<p> +The housebreaker flung the girl from him to the further end of the room, just +as the Jew and the two boys returned, dragging Oliver among them. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter here!” said Fagin, looking round. +</p> + +<p> +“The girl’s gone mad, I think,” replied Sikes, savagely. +</p> + +<p> +“No, she hasn’t,” said Nancy, pale and breathless from the scuffle; “no, she +hasn’t, Fagin; don’t think it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then keep quiet, will you?” said the Jew, with a threatening look. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I won’t do that, neither,” replied Nancy, speaking very loud. “Come! What +do you think of that?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Fagin was sufficiently well acquainted with the manners and customs of that +particular species of humanity to which Nancy belonged, to feel tolerably +certain that it would be rather unsafe to prolong any conversation with her, at +present. With the view of diverting the attention of the company, he turned to +Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“So you wanted to get away, my dear, did you?” said the Jew, taking up a jagged +and knotted club which lay in a corner of the fireplace; “eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver made no reply. But he watched the Jew’s motions, and breathed quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Wanted to get assistance; called for the police; did you?” sneered the Jew, +catching the boy by the arm. “We’ll cure you of that, my young master.” +</p> + +<p> +The Jew inflicted a smart blow on Oliver’s shoulders with the club; and was +raising it for a second, when the girl, rushing forward, wrested it from his +hand. She flung it into the fire, with a force that brought some of the glowing +coals whirling out into the room. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t stand by and see it done, Fagin,” cried the girl. “You’ve got the boy, +and what more would you have?—Let him be—let him be—or I shall put that mark on +some of you, that will bring me to the gallows before my time.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl stamped her foot violently on the floor as she vented this threat; and +with her lips compressed, and her hands clenched, looked alternately at the Jew +and the other robber: her face quite colourless from the passion of rage into +which she had gradually worked herself. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Nancy!” said the Jew, in a soothing tone; after a pause, during which he +and Mr. Sikes had stared at one another in a disconcerted manner; “you,—you’re +more clever than ever tonight. Ha! ha! my dear, you are acting beautifully.” +</p> + +<p> +“Am I?” said the girl. “Take care I don’t overdo it. You will be the worse for +it, Fagin, if I do; and so I tell you in good time to keep clear of me.” +</p> + +<p> +There is something about a roused woman: especially if she add to all her other +strong passions, the fierce impulses of recklessness and despair; which few men +like to provoke. The Jew saw that it would be hopeless to affect any further +mistake regarding the reality of Miss Nancy’s rage; and, shrinking +involuntarily back a few paces, cast a glance, half imploring and half +cowardly, at Sikes: as if to hint that he was the fittest person to pursue the +dialogue. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Sikes, thus mutely appealed to; and possibly feeling his personal pride and +influence interested in the immediate reduction of Miss Nancy to reason; gave +utterance to about a couple of score of curses and threats, the rapid +production of which reflected great credit on the fertility of his invention. +As they produced no visible effect on the object against whom they were +discharged, however, he resorted to more tangible arguments. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean by this?” said Sikes; backing the inquiry with a very common +imprecation concerning the most beautiful of human features: which, if it were +heard above, only once out of every fifty thousand times that it is uttered +below, would render blindness as common a disorder as measles: “what do you +mean by it? Burn my body! Do you know who you are, and what you are?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, I know all about it,” replied the girl, laughing hysterically; and +shaking her head from side to side, with a poor assumption of indifference. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, keep quiet,” rejoined Sikes, with a growl like that he was +accustomed to use when addressing his dog, “or I’ll quiet you for a good long +time to come.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl laughed again: even less composedly than before; and, darting a hasty +look at Sikes, turned her face aside, and bit her lip till the blood came. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a nice one,” added Sikes, as he surveyed her with a contemptuous air, +“to take up the humane and gen—teel side! A pretty subject for the child, as +you call him, to make a friend of!” +</p> + +<p> +“God Almighty help me, I am!” cried the girl passionately; “and I wish I had +been struck dead in the street, or had changed places with them we passed so +near tonight, before I had lent a hand in bringing him here. He’s a thief, a +liar, a devil, all that’s bad, from this night forth. Isn’t that enough for the +old wretch, without blows?” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, come, Sikes,” said the Jew appealing to him in a remonstratory tone, and +motioning towards the boys, who were eagerly attentive to all that passed; “we +must have civil words; civil words, Bill.” +</p> + +<p> +“Civil words!” cried the girl, whose passion was frightful to see. “Civil +words, you villain! Yes, you deserve ’em from me. I thieved for you when I was +a child not half as old as this!” pointing to Oliver. “I have been in the same +trade, and in the same service, for twelve years since. Don’t you know it? +Speak out! Don’t you know it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well,” replied the Jew, with an attempt at pacification; “and, if you +have, it’s your living!” +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, it is!” returned the girl; not speaking, but pouring out the words in one +continuous and vehement scream. “It is my living; and the cold, wet, dirty +streets are my home; and you’re the wretch that drove me to them long ago, and +that’ll keep me there, day and night, day and night, till I die!” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall do you a mischief!” interposed the Jew, goaded by these reproaches; “a +mischief worse than that, if you say much more!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl said nothing more; but, tearing her hair and dress in a transport of +passion, made such a rush at the Jew as would probably have left signal marks +of her revenge upon him, had not her wrists been seized by Sikes at the right +moment; upon which, she made a few ineffectual struggles, and fainted. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s all right now,” said Sikes, laying her down in a corner. “She’s uncommon +strong in the arms, when she’s up in this way.” +</p> + +<p> +The Jew wiped his forehead: and smiled, as if it were a relief to have the +disturbance over; but neither he, nor Sikes, nor the dog, nor the boys, seemed +to consider it in any other light than a common occurance incidental to +business. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the worst of having to do with women,” said the Jew, replacing his club; +“but they’re clever, and we can’t get on, in our line, without ’em. Charley, +show Oliver to bed.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose he’d better not wear his best clothes tomorrow, Fagin, had he?” +inquired Charley Bates. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not,” replied the Jew, reciprocating the grin with which Charley put +the question. +</p> + +<p> +Master Bates, apparently much delighted with his commission, took the cleft +stick: and led Oliver into an adjacent kitchen, where there were two or three +of the beds on which he had slept before; and here, with many uncontrollable +bursts of laughter, he produced the identical old suit of clothes which Oliver +had so much congratulated himself upon leaving off at Mr. Brownlow’s; and the +accidental display of which, to Fagin, by the Jew who purchased them, had been +the very first clue received, of his whereabout. +</p> + +<p> +“Put off the smart ones,” said Charley, “and I’ll give ’em to Fagin to take +care of. What fun it is!” +</p> + +<p> +Poor Oliver unwillingly complied. Master Bates rolling up the new clothes under +his arm, departed from the room, leaving Oliver in the dark, and locking the +door behind him. +</p> + +<p> +The noise of Charley’s laughter, and the voice of Miss Betsy, who opportunely +arrived to throw water over her friend, and perform other feminine offices for +the promotion of her recovery, might have kept many people awake under more +happy circumstances than those in which Oliver was placed. But he was sick and +weary; and he soon fell sound asleep. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a> CHAPTER XVII.<br/> +OLIVER’S DESTINY CONTINUING UNPROPITIOUS, BRINGS A GREAT MAN TO LONDON TO +INJURE HIS REPUTATION</h2> + +<p> +It is the custom on the stage, in all good murderous melodramas, to present the +tragic and the comic scenes, in as regular alternation, as the layers of red +and white in a side of streaky bacon. The hero sinks upon his straw bed, +weighed down by fetters and misfortunes; in the next scene, his faithful but +unconscious squire regales the audience with a comic song. We behold, with +throbbing bosoms, the heroine in the grasp of a proud and ruthless baron: her +virtue and her life alike in danger, drawing forth her dagger to preserve the +one at the cost of the other; and just as our expectations are wrought up to +the highest pitch, a whistle is heard, and we are straightway transported to +the great hall of the castle; where a grey-headed seneschal sings a funny +chorus with a funnier body of vassals, who are free of all sorts of places, +from church vaults to palaces, and roam about in company, carolling +perpetually. +</p> + +<p> +Such changes appear absurd; but they are not so unnatural as they would seem at +first sight. The transitions in real life from well-spread boards to +death-beds, and from mourning-weeds to holiday garments, are not a whit less +startling; only, there, we are busy actors, instead of passive lookers-on, +which makes a vast difference. The actors in the mimic life of the theatre, are +blind to violent transitions and abrupt impulses of passion or feeling, which, +presented before the eyes of mere spectators, are at once condemned as +outrageous and preposterous. +</p> + +<p> +As sudden shiftings of the scene, and rapid changes of time and place, are not +only sanctioned in books by long usage, but are by many considered as the great +art of authorship: an author’s skill in his craft being, by such critics, +chiefly estimated with relation to the dilemmas in which he leaves his +characters at the end of every chapter: this brief introduction to the present +one may perhaps be deemed unnecessary. If so, let it be considered a delicate +intimation on the part of the historian that he is going back to the town in +which Oliver Twist was born; the reader taking it for granted that there are +good and substantial reasons for making the journey, or he would not be invited +to proceed upon such an expedition. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble emerged at early morning from the workhouse-gate, and walked with +portly carriage and commanding steps, up the High Street. He was in the full +bloom and pride of beadlehood; his cocked hat and coat were dazzling in the +morning sun; he clutched his cane with the vigorous tenacity of health and +power. Mr. Bumble always carried his head high; but this morning it was higher +than usual. There was an abstraction in his eye, an elevation in his air, which +might have warned an observant stranger that thoughts were passing in the +beadle’s mind, too great for utterance. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble stopped not to converse with the small shopkeepers and others who +spoke to him, deferentially, as he passed along. He merely returned their +salutations with a wave of his hand, and relaxed not in his dignified pace, +until he reached the farm where Mrs. Mann tended the infant paupers with +parochial care. +</p> + +<p> +“Drat that beadle!” said Mrs. Mann, hearing the well-known shaking at the +garden-gate. “If it isn’t him at this time in the morning! Lauk, Mr. Bumble, +only think of its being you! Well, dear me, it <i>is</i> a pleasure, this is! +Come into the parlour, sir, please.” +</p> + +<p> +The first sentence was addressed to Susan; and the exclamations of delight were +uttered to Mr. Bumble: as the good lady unlocked the garden-gate: and showed +him, with great attention and respect, into the house. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Mann,” said Mr. Bumble; not sitting upon, or dropping himself into a +seat, as any common jackanapes would: but letting himself gradually and slowly +down into a chair; “Mrs. Mann, ma’am, good morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, and good morning to <i>you</i>, sir,” replied Mrs. Mann, with many +smiles; “and hoping you find yourself well, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“So-so, Mrs. Mann,” replied the beadle. “A porochial life is not a bed of +roses, Mrs. Mann.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, that it isn’t indeed, Mr. Bumble,” rejoined the lady. And all the infant +paupers might have chorussed the rejoinder with great propriety, if they had +heard it. +</p> + +<p> +“A porochial life, ma’am,” continued Mr. Bumble, striking the table with his +cane, “is a life of worrit, and vexation, and hardihood; but all public +characters, as I may say, must suffer prosecution.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mann, not very well knowing what the beadle meant, raised her hands with a +look of sympathy, and sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! You may well sigh, Mrs. Mann!” said the beadle. +</p> + +<p> +Finding she had done right, Mrs. Mann sighed again: evidently to the +satisfaction of the public character: who, repressing a complacent smile by +looking sternly at his cocked hat, said, +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Mann, I am going to London.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lauk, Mr. Bumble!” cried Mrs. Mann, starting back. +</p> + +<p> +“To London, ma’am,” resumed the inflexible beadle, “by coach. I and two +paupers, Mrs. Mann! A legal action is a coming on, about a settlement; and the +board has appointed me—me, Mrs. Mann—to dispose to the matter before the +quarter-sessions at Clerkinwell. And I very much question,” added Mr. Bumble, +drawing himself up, “whether the Clerkinwell Sessions will not find themselves +in the wrong box before they have done with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! you mustn’t be too hard upon them, sir,” said Mrs. Mann, coaxingly. +</p> + +<p> +“The Clerkinwell Sessions have brought it upon themselves, ma’am,” replied Mr. +Bumble; “and if the Clerkinwell Sessions find that they come off rather worse +than they expected, the Clerkinwell Sessions have only themselves to thank.” +</p> + +<p> +There was so much determination and depth of purpose about the menacing manner +in which Mr. Bumble delivered himself of these words, that Mrs. Mann appeared +quite awed by them. At length she said, +</p> + +<p> +“You’re going by coach, sir? I thought it was always usual to send them paupers +in carts.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s when they’re ill, Mrs. Mann,” said the beadle. “We put the sick paupers +into open carts in the rainy weather, to prevent their taking cold.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said Mrs. Mann. +</p> + +<p> +“The opposition coach contracts for these two; and takes them cheap,” said Mr. +Bumble. “They are both in a very low state, and we find it would come two pound +cheaper to move ’em than to bury ’em—that is, if we can throw ’em upon another +parish, which I think we shall be able to do, if they don’t die upon the road +to spite us. Ha! ha! ha!” +</p> + +<p> +When Mr. Bumble had laughed a little while, his eyes again encountered the +cocked hat; and he became grave. +</p> + +<p> +“We are forgetting business, ma’am,” said the beadle; “here is your porochial +stipend for the month.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble produced some silver money rolled up in paper, from his pocket-book; +and requested a receipt: which Mrs. Mann wrote. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s very much blotted, sir,” said the farmer of infants; “but it’s formal +enough, I dare say. Thank you, Mr. Bumble, sir, I am very much obliged to you, +I’m sure.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble nodded, blandly, in acknowledgment of Mrs. Mann’s curtsey; and +inquired how the children were. +</p> + +<p> +“Bless their dear little hearts!” said Mrs. Mann with emotion, “they’re as well +as can be, the dears! Of course, except the two that died last week. And little +Dick.” +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t that boy no better?” inquired Mr. Bumble. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mann shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a ill-conditioned, wicious, bad-disposed porochial child that,” said Mr. +Bumble angrily. “Where is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll bring him to you in one minute, sir,” replied Mrs. Mann. “Here, you +Dick!” +</p> + +<p> +After some calling, Dick was discovered. Having had his face put under the +pump, and dried upon Mrs. Mann’s gown, he was led into the awful presence of +Mr. Bumble, the beadle. +</p> + +<p> +The child was pale and thin; his cheeks were sunken; and his eyes large and +bright. The scanty parish dress, the livery of his misery, hung loosely on his +feeble body; and his young limbs had wasted away, like those of an old man. +</p> + +<p> +Such was the little being who stood trembling beneath Mr. Bumble’s glance; not +daring to lift his eyes from the floor; and dreading even to hear the beadle’s +voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t you look at the gentleman, you obstinate boy?” said Mrs. Mann. +</p> + +<p> +The child meekly raised his eyes, and encountered those of Mr. Bumble. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter with you, porochial Dick?” inquired Mr. Bumble, with +well-timed jocularity. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing, sir,” replied the child faintly. +</p> + +<p> +“I should think not,” said Mrs. Mann, who had of course laughed very much at +Mr. Bumble’s humour. +</p> + +<p> +“You want for nothing, I’m sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should like—” faltered the child. +</p> + +<p> +“Hey-day!” interposed Mrs. Mann, “I suppose you’re going to say that you +<i>do</i> want for something, now? Why, you little wretch—” +</p> + +<p> +“Stop, Mrs. Mann, stop!” said the beadle, raising his hand with a show of +authority. “Like what, sir, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should like,” faltered the child, “if somebody that can write, would put a +few words down for me on a piece of paper, and fold it up and seal it, and keep +it for me, after I am laid in the ground.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, what does the boy mean?” exclaimed Mr. Bumble, on whom the earnest manner +and wan aspect of the child had made some impression: accustomed as he was to +such things. “What do you mean, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should like,” said the child, “to leave my dear love to poor Oliver Twist; +and to let him know how often I have sat by myself and cried to think of his +wandering about in the dark nights with nobody to help him. And I should like +to tell him,” said the child pressing his small hands together, and speaking +with great fervour, “that I was glad to die when I was very young; for, +perhaps, if I had lived to be a man, and had grown old, my little sister who is +in Heaven, might forget me, or be unlike me; and it would be so much happier if +we were both children there together.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble surveyed the little speaker, from head to foot, with indescribable +astonishment; and, turning to his companion, said, “They’re all in one story, +Mrs. Mann. That out-dacious Oliver had demogalized them all!” +</p> + +<p> +“I couldn’t have believed it, sir” said Mrs Mann, holding up her hands, and +looking malignantly at Dick. “I never see such a hardened little wretch!” +</p> + +<p> +“Take him away, ma’am!” said Mr. Bumble imperiously. “This must be stated to +the board, Mrs. Mann.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope the gentleman will understand that it isn’t my fault, sir?” said Mrs. +Mann, whimpering pathetically. +</p> + +<p> +“They shall understand that, ma’am; they shall be acquainted with the true +state of the case,” said Mr. Bumble. “There; take him away, I can’t bear the +sight on him.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick was immediately taken away, and locked up in the coal-cellar. Mr. Bumble +shortly afterwards took himself off, to prepare for his journey. +</p> + +<p> +At six o’clock next morning, Mr. Bumble: having exchanged his cocked hat for a +round one, and encased his person in a blue great-coat with a cape to it: took +his place on the outside of the coach, accompanied by the criminals whose +settlement was disputed; with whom, in due course of time, he arrived in +London. +</p> + +<p> +He experienced no other crosses on the way, than those which originated in the +perverse behaviour of the two paupers, who persisted in shivering, and +complaining of the cold, in a manner which, Mr. Bumble declared, caused his +teeth to chatter in his head, and made him feel quite uncomfortable; although +he had a great-coat on. +</p> + +<p> +Having disposed of these evil-minded persons for the night, Mr. Bumble sat +himself down in the house at which the coach stopped; and took a temperate +dinner of steaks, oyster sauce, and porter. Putting a glass of hot +gin-and-water on the chimney-piece, he drew his chair to the fire; and, with +sundry moral reflections on the too-prevalent sin of discontent and +complaining, composed himself to read the paper. +</p> + +<p> +The very first paragraph upon which Mr. Bumble’s eye rested, was the following +advertisement. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +“FIVE GUINEAS REWARD +</p> + +<p> +“Whereas a young boy, named Oliver Twist, absconded, or was enticed, on +Thursday evening last, from his home, at Pentonville; and has not since been +heard of. The above reward will be paid to any person who will give such +information as will lead to the discovery of the said Oliver Twist, or tend to +throw any light upon his previous history, in which the advertiser is, for many +reasons, warmly interested.” +</p> + +<p> +And then followed a full description of Oliver’s dress, person, appearance, and +disappearance: with the name and address of Mr. Brownlow at full length. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble opened his eyes; read the advertisement, slowly and carefully, three +several times; and in something more than five minutes was on his way to +Pentonville: having actually, in his excitement, left the glass of hot +gin-and-water, untasted. +</p> + +<p> +“Is Mr. Brownlow at home?” inquired Mr. Bumble of the girl who opened the door. +</p> + +<p> +To this inquiry the girl returned the not uncommon, but rather evasive reply of +“I don’t know; where do you come from?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble no sooner uttered Oliver’s name, in explanation of his errand, than +Mrs. Bedwin, who had been listening at the parlour door, hastened into the +passage in a breathless state. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in, come in,” said the old lady: “I knew we should hear of him. Poor +dear! I knew we should! I was certain of it. Bless his heart! I said so all +along.” +</p> + +<p> +Having said this, the worthy old lady hurried back into the parlour again; and +seating herself on a sofa, burst into tears. The girl, who was not quite so +susceptible, had run upstairs meanwhile; and now returned with a request that +Mr. Bumble would follow her immediately: which he did. +</p> + +<p> +He was shown into the little back study, where sat Mr. Brownlow and his friend +Mr. Grimwig, with decanters and glasses before them. The latter gentleman at +once burst into the exclamation: +</p> + +<p> +“A beadle. A parish beadle, or I’ll eat my head.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pray don’t interrupt just now,” said Mr. Brownlow. “Take a seat, will you?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble sat himself down; quite confounded by the oddity of Mr. Grimwig’s +manner. Mr. Brownlow moved the lamp, so as to obtain an uninterrupted view of +the beadle’s countenance; and said, with a little impatience, +</p> + +<p> +“Now, sir, you come in consequence of having seen the advertisement?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” said Mr. Bumble. +</p> + +<p> +“And you <i>are</i> a beadle, are you not?” inquired Mr. Grimwig. +</p> + +<p> +“I am a porochial beadle, gentlemen,” rejoined Mr. Bumble proudly. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” observed Mr. Grimwig aside to his friend, “I knew he was. A beadle +all over!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brownlow gently shook his head to impose silence on his friend, and +resumed: +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know where this poor boy is now?” +</p> + +<p> +“No more than nobody,” replied Mr. Bumble. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what <i>do</i> you know of him?” inquired the old gentleman. “Speak out, +my friend, if you have anything to say. What <i>do</i> you know of him?” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t happen to know any good of him, do you?” said Mr. Grimwig, +caustically; after an attentive perusal of Mr. Bumble’s features. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble, catching at the inquiry very quickly, shook his head with +portentous solemnity. +</p> + +<p> +“You see?” said Mr. Grimwig, looking triumphantly at Mr. Brownlow. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brownlow looked apprehensively at Mr. Bumble’s pursed-up countenance; and +requested him to communicate what he knew regarding Oliver, in as few words as +possible. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble put down his hat; unbuttoned his coat; folded his arms; inclined his +head in a retrospective manner; and, after a few moments’ reflection, commenced +his story. +</p> + +<p> +It would be tedious if given in the beadle’s words: occupying, as it did, some +twenty minutes in the telling; but the sum and substance of it was, that Oliver +was a foundling, born of low and vicious parents. That he had, from his birth, +displayed no better qualities than treachery, ingratitude, and malice. That he +had terminated his brief career in the place of his birth, by making a +sanguinary and cowardly attack on an unoffending lad, and running away in the +night-time from his master’s house. In proof of his really being the person he +represented himself, Mr. Bumble laid upon the table the papers he had brought +to town. Folding his arms again, he then awaited Mr. Brownlow’s observations. +</p> + +<p> +“I fear it is all too true,” said the old gentleman sorrowfully, after looking +over the papers. “This is not much for your intelligence; but I would gladly +have given you treble the money, if it had been favourable to the boy.” +</p> + +<p> +It is not improbable that if Mr. Bumble had been possessed of this information +at an earlier period of the interview, he might have imparted a very different +colouring to his little history. It was too late to do it now, however; so he +shook his head gravely, and, pocketing the five guineas, withdrew. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brownlow paced the room to and fro for some minutes; evidently so much +disturbed by the beadle’s tale, that even Mr. Grimwig forbore to vex him +further. +</p> + +<p> +At length he stopped, and rang the bell violently. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Bedwin,” said Mr. Brownlow, when the housekeeper appeared; “that boy, +Oliver, is an imposter.” +</p> + +<p> +“It can’t be, sir. It cannot be,” said the old lady energetically. +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you he is,” retorted the old gentleman. “What do you mean by can’t be? +We have just heard a full account of him from his birth; and he has been a +thorough-paced little villain, all his life.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never will believe it, sir,” replied the old lady, firmly. “Never!” +</p> + +<p> +“You old women never believe anything but quack-doctors, and lying +story-books,” growled Mr. Grimwig. “I knew it all along. Why didn’t you take my +advice in the beginning; you would if he hadn’t had a fever, I suppose, eh? He +was interesting, wasn’t he? Interesting! Bah!” And Mr. Grimwig poked the fire +with a flourish. +</p> + +<p> +“He was a dear, grateful, gentle child, sir,” retorted Mrs. Bedwin, +indignantly. “I know what children are, sir; and have done these forty years; +and people who can’t say the same, shouldn’t say anything about them. That’s my +opinion!” +</p> + +<p> +This was a hard hit at Mr. Grimwig, who was a bachelor. As it extorted nothing +from that gentleman but a smile, the old lady tossed her head, and smoothed +down her apron preparatory to another speech, when she was stopped by Mr. +Brownlow. +</p> + +<p> +“Silence!” said the old gentleman, feigning an anger he was far from feeling. +“Never let me hear the boy’s name again. I rang to tell you that. Never. Never, +on any pretence, mind! You may leave the room, Mrs. Bedwin. Remember! I am in +earnest.” +</p> + +<p> +There were sad hearts at Mr. Brownlow’s that night. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver’s heart sank within him, when he thought of his good friends; it was +well for him that he could not know what they had heard, or it might have +broken outright. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a> CHAPTER XVIII.<br/> +HOW OLIVER PASSED HIS TIME IN THE IMPROVING SOCIETY OF HIS REPUTABLE +FRIENDS</h2> + +<p> +About noon next day, when the Dodger and Master Bates had gone out to pursue +their customary avocations, Mr. Fagin took the opportunity of reading Oliver a +long lecture on the crying sin of ingratitude; of which he clearly demonstrated +he had been guilty, to no ordinary extent, in wilfully absenting himself from +the society of his anxious friends; and, still more, in endeavouring to escape +from them after so much trouble and expense had been incurred in his recovery. +Mr. Fagin laid great stress on the fact of his having taken Oliver in, and +cherished him, when, without his timely aid, he might have perished with +hunger; and he related the dismal and affecting history of a young lad whom, in +his philanthropy, he had succoured under parallel circumstances, but who, +proving unworthy of his confidence and evincing a desire to communicate with +the police, had unfortunately come to be hanged at the Old Bailey one morning. +Mr. Fagin did not seek to conceal his share in the catastrophe, but lamented +with tears in his eyes that the wrong-headed and treacherous behaviour of the +young person in question, had rendered it necessary that he should become the +victim of certain evidence for the crown: which, if it were not precisely true, +was indispensably necessary for the safety of him (Mr. Fagin) and a few select +friends. Mr. Fagin concluded by drawing a rather disagreeable picture of the +discomforts of hanging; and, with great friendliness and politeness of manner, +expressed his anxious hopes that he might never be obliged to submit Oliver +Twist to that unpleasant operation. +</p> + +<p> +Little Oliver’s blood ran cold, as he listened to the Jew’s words, and +imperfectly comprehended the dark threats conveyed in them. That it was +possible even for justice itself to confound the innocent with the guilty when +they were in accidental companionship, he knew already; and that deeply-laid +plans for the destruction of inconveniently knowing or over-communicative +persons, had been really devised and carried out by the Jew on more occasions +than one, he thought by no means unlikely, when he recollected the general +nature of the altercations between that gentleman and Mr. Sikes: which seemed +to bear reference to some foregone conspiracy of the kind. As he glanced +timidly up, and met the Jew’s searching look, he felt that his pale face and +trembling limbs were neither unnoticed nor unrelished by that wary old +gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +The Jew, smiling hideously, patted Oliver on the head, and said, that if he +kept himself quiet, and applied himself to business, he saw they would be very +good friends yet. Then, taking his hat, and covering himself with an old +patched great-coat, he went out, and locked the room-door behind him. +</p> + +<p> +And so Oliver remained all that day, and for the greater part of many +subsequent days, seeing nobody, between early morning and midnight, and left +during the long hours to commune with his own thoughts. Which, never failing to +revert to his kind friends, and the opinion they must long ago have formed of +him, were sad indeed. +</p> + +<p> +After the lapse of a week or so, the Jew left the room-door unlocked; and he +was at liberty to wander about the house. +</p> + +<p> +It was a very dirty place. The rooms upstairs had great high wooden +chimney-pieces and large doors, with panelled walls and cornices to the +ceiling; which, although they were black with neglect and dust, were ornamented +in various ways. From all of these tokens Oliver concluded that a long time +ago, before the old Jew was born, it had belonged to better people, and had +perhaps been quite gay and handsome: dismal and dreary as it looked now. +</p> + +<p> +Spiders had built their webs in the angles of the walls and ceilings; and +sometimes, when Oliver walked softly into a room, the mice would scamper across +the floor, and run back terrified to their holes. With these exceptions, there +was neither sight nor sound of any living thing; and often, when it grew dark, +and he was tired of wandering from room to room, he would crouch in the corner +of the passage by the street-door, to be as near living people as he could; and +would remain there, listening and counting the hours, until the Jew or the boys +returned. +</p> + +<p> +In all the rooms, the mouldering shutters were fast closed: the bars which held +them were screwed tight into the wood; the only light which was admitted, +stealing its way through round holes at the top: which made the rooms more +gloomy, and filled them with strange shadows. There was a back-garret window +with rusty bars outside, which had no shutter; and out of this, Oliver often +gazed with a melancholy face for hours together; but nothing was to be descried +from it but a confused and crowded mass of housetops, blackened chimneys, and +gable-ends. Sometimes, indeed, a grizzly head might be seen, peering over the +parapet-wall of a distant house; but it was quickly withdrawn again; and as the +window of Oliver’s observatory was nailed down, and dimmed with the rain and +smoke of years, it was as much as he could do to make out the forms of the +different objects beyond, without making any attempt to be seen or heard,—which +he had as much chance of being, as if he had lived inside the ball of St. +Paul’s Cathedral. +</p> + +<p> +One afternoon, the Dodger and Master Bates being engaged out that evening, the +first-named young gentleman took it into his head to evince some anxiety +regarding the decoration of his person (to do him justice, this was by no means +an habitual weakness with him); and, with this end and aim, he condescendingly +commanded Oliver to assist him in his toilet, straightway. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver was but too glad to make himself useful; too happy to have some faces, +however bad, to look upon; too desirous to conciliate those about him when he +could honestly do so; to throw any objection in the way of this proposal. So he +at once expressed his readiness; and, kneeling on the floor, while the Dodger +sat upon the table so that he could take his foot in his laps, he applied +himself to a process which Mr. Dawkins designated as “japanning his +trotter-cases.” The phrase, rendered into plain English, signifieth, cleaning +his boots. +</p> + +<p> +Whether it was the sense of freedom and independence which a rational animal +may be supposed to feel when he sits on a table in an easy attitude smoking a +pipe, swinging one leg carelessly to and fro, and having his boots cleaned all +the time, without even the past trouble of having taken them off, or the +prospective misery of putting them on, to disturb his reflections; or whether +it was the goodness of the tobacco that soothed the feelings of the Dodger, or +the mildness of the beer that mollified his thoughts; he was evidently +tinctured, for the nonce, with a spice of romance and enthusiasm, foreign to +his general nature. He looked down on Oliver, with a thoughtful countenance, +for a brief space; and then, raising his head, and heaving a gentle sigh, said, +half in abstraction, and half to Master Bates: +</p> + +<p> +“What a pity it is he isn’t a prig!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Master Charles Bates; “he don’t know what’s good for him.” +</p> + +<p> +The Dodger sighed again, and resumed his pipe: as did Charley Bates. They both +smoked, for some seconds, in silence. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you don’t even know what a prig is?” said the Dodger mournfully. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I know that,” replied Oliver, looking up. “It’s a the—; you’re one, +are you not?” inquired Oliver, checking himself. +</p> + +<p> +“I am,” replied the Dodger. “I’d scorn to be anything else.” Mr. Dawkins gave +his hat a ferocious cock, after delivering this sentiment, and looked at Master +Bates, as if to denote that he would feel obliged by his saying anything to the +contrary. +</p> + +<p> +“I am,” repeated the Dodger. “So’s Charley. So’s Fagin. So’s Sikes. So’s Nancy. +So’s Bet. So we all are, down to the dog. And he’s the downiest one of the +lot!” +</p> + +<p> +“And the least given to peaching,” added Charley Bates. +</p> + +<p> +“He wouldn’t so much as bark in a witness-box, for fear of committing himself; +no, not if you tied him up in one, and left him there without wittles for a +fortnight,” said the Dodger. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a bit of it,” observed Charley. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a rum dog. Don’t he look fierce at any strange cove that laughs or sings +when he’s in company!” pursued the Dodger. “Won’t he growl at all, when he +hears a fiddle playing! And don’t he hate other dogs as ain’t of his breed! Oh, +no!” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s an out-and-out Christian,” said Charley. +</p> + +<p> +This was merely intended as a tribute to the animal’s abilities, but it was an +appropriate remark in another sense, if Master Bates had only known it; for +there are a good many ladies and gentlemen, claiming to be out-and-out +Christians, between whom, and Mr. Sikes’ dog, there exist strong and singular +points of resemblance. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well,” said the Dodger, recurring to the point from which they had +strayed: with that mindfulness of his profession which influenced all his +proceedings. “This hasn’t got anything to do with young Green here.” +</p> + +<p> +“No more it has,” said Charley. “Why don’t you put yourself under Fagin, +Oliver?” +</p> + +<p> +“And make your fortun’ out of hand?” added the Dodger, with a grin. +</p> + +<p> +“And so be able to retire on your property, and do the gen-teel: as I mean to, +in the very next leap-year but four that ever comes, and the forty-second +Tuesday in Trinity-week,” said Charley Bates. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like it,” rejoined Oliver, timidly; “I wish they would let me go. +I—I—would rather go.” +</p> + +<p> +“And Fagin would <i>rather</i> not!” rejoined Charley. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver knew this too well; but thinking it might be dangerous to express his +feelings more openly, he only sighed, and went on with his boot-cleaning. +</p> + +<p> +“Go!” exclaimed the Dodger. “Why, where’s your spirit? Don’t you take any pride +out of yourself? Would you go and be dependent on your friends?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, blow that!” said Master Bates: drawing two or three silk handkerchiefs +from his pocket, and tossing them into a cupboard, “that’s too mean; that is.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I</i> couldn’t do it,” said the Dodger, with an air of haughty disgust. +</p> + +<p> +“You can leave your friends, though,” said Oliver with a half smile; “and let +them be punished for what you did.” +</p> + +<p> +“That,” rejoined the Dodger, with a wave of his pipe, “That was all out of +consideration for Fagin, ’cause the traps know that we work together, and he +might have got into trouble if we hadn’t made our lucky; that was the move, +wasn’t it, Charley?” +</p> + +<p> +Master Bates nodded assent, and would have spoken, but the recollection of +Oliver’s flight came so suddenly upon him, that the smoke he was inhaling got +entangled with a laugh, and went up into his head, and down into his throat: +and brought on a fit of coughing and stamping, about five minutes long. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here!” said the Dodger, drawing forth a handful of shillings and +halfpence. “Here’s a jolly life! What’s the odds where it comes from? Here, +catch hold; there’s plenty more where they were took from. You won’t, won’t +you? Oh, you precious flat!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s naughty, ain’t it, Oliver?” inquired Charley Bates. “He’ll come to be +scragged, won’t he?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what that means,” replied Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“Something in this way, old feller,” said Charley. As he said it, Master Bates +caught up an end of his neckerchief; and, holding it erect in the air, dropped +his head on his shoulder, and jerked a curious sound through his teeth; thereby +indicating, by a lively pantomimic representation, that scragging and hanging +were one and the same thing. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what it means,” said Charley. “Look how he stares, Jack! I never did +see such prime company as that ’ere boy; he’ll be the death of me, I know he +will.” Master Charley Bates, having laughed heartily again, resumed his pipe +with tears in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve been brought up bad,” said the Dodger, surveying his boots with much +satisfaction when Oliver had polished them. “Fagin will make something of you, +though, or you’ll be the first he ever had that turned out unprofitable. You’d +better begin at once; for you’ll come to the trade long before you think of it; +and you’re only losing time, Oliver.” +</p> + +<p> +Master Bates backed this advice with sundry moral admonitions of his own: +which, being exhausted, he and his friend Mr. Dawkins launched into a glowing +description of the numerous pleasures incidental to the life they led, +interspersed with a variety of hints to Oliver that the best thing he could do, +would be to secure Fagin’s favour without more delay, by the means which they +themselves had employed to gain it. +</p> + +<p> +“And always put this in your pipe, Nolly,” said the Dodger, as the Jew was +heard unlocking the door above, “if you don’t take fogels and tickers—” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the good of talking in that way?” interposed Master Bates; “he don’t +know what you mean.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you don’t take pocket-handkechers and watches,” said the Dodger, reducing +his conversation to the level of Oliver’s capacity, “some other cove will; so +that the coves that lose ’em will be all the worse, and you’ll be all the +worse, too, and nobody half a ha’p’orth the better, except the chaps wot gets +them—and you’ve just as good a right to them as they have.” +</p> + +<p> +“To be sure, to be sure!” said the Jew, who had entered unseen by Oliver. “It +all lies in a nutshell my dear; in a nutshell, take the Dodger’s word for it. +Ha! ha! ha! He understands the catechism of his trade.” +</p> + +<p> +The old man rubbed his hands gleefully together, as he corroborated the +Dodger’s reasoning in these terms; and chuckled with delight at his pupil’s +proficiency. +</p> + +<p> +The conversation proceeded no farther at this time, for the Jew had returned +home accompanied by Miss Betsy, and a gentleman whom Oliver had never seen +before, but who was accosted by the Dodger as Tom Chitling; and who, having +lingered on the stairs to exchange a few gallantries with the lady, now made +his appearance. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Chitling was older in years than the Dodger: having perhaps numbered +eighteen winters; but there was a degree of deference in his deportment towards +that young gentleman which seemed to indicate that he felt himself conscious of +a slight inferiority in point of genius and professional aquirements. He had +small twinkling eyes, and a pock-marked face; wore a fur cap, a dark corduroy +jacket, greasy fustian trousers, and an apron. His wardrobe was, in truth, +rather out of repair; but he excused himself to the company by stating that his +“time” was only out an hour before; and that, in consequence of having worn the +regimentals for six weeks past, he had not been able to bestow any attention on +his private clothes. Mr. Chitling added, with strong marks of irritation, that +the new way of fumigating clothes up yonder was infernal unconstitutional, for +it burnt holes in them, and there was no remedy against the county. The same +remark he considered to apply to the regulation mode of cutting the hair: which +he held to be decidedly unlawful. Mr. Chitling wound up his observations by +stating that he had not touched a drop of anything for forty-two moral long +hard-working days; and that he “wished he might be busted if he warn’t as dry +as a lime-basket.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where do you think the gentleman has come from, Oliver?” inquired the Jew, +with a grin, as the other boys put a bottle of spirits on the table. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I—don’t know, sir,” replied Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s that?” inquired Tom Chitling, casting a contemptuous look at Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“A young friend of mine, my dear,” replied the Jew. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s in luck, then,” said the young man, with a meaning look at Fagin. “Never +mind where I came from, young ’un; you’ll find your way there, soon enough, +I’ll bet a crown!” +</p> + +<p> +At this sally, the boys laughed. After some more jokes on the same subject, +they exchanged a few short whispers with Fagin; and withdrew. +</p> + +<p> +After some words apart between the last comer and Fagin, they drew their chairs +towards the fire; and the Jew, telling Oliver to come and sit by him, led the +conversation to the topics most calculated to interest his hearers. These were, +the great advantages of the trade, the proficiency of the Dodger, the +amiability of Charley Bates, and the liberality of the Jew himself. At length +these subjects displayed signs of being thoroughly exhausted; and Mr. Chitling +did the same: for the house of correction becomes fatiguing after a week or +two. Miss Betsy accordingly withdrew; and left the party to their repose. +</p> + +<p> +From this day, Oliver was seldom left alone; but was placed in almost constant +communication with the two boys, who played the old game with the Jew every +day: whether for their own improvement or Oliver’s, Mr. Fagin best knew. At +other times the old man would tell them stories of robberies he had committed +in his younger days: mixed up with so much that was droll and curious, that +Oliver could not help laughing heartily, and showing that he was amused in +spite of all his better feelings. +</p> + +<p> +In short, the wily old Jew had the boy in his toils. Having prepared his mind, +by solitude and gloom, to prefer any society to the companionship of his own +sad thoughts in such a dreary place, he was now slowly instilling into his soul +the poison which he hoped would blacken it, and change its hue for ever. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a> CHAPTER XIX.<br/> +IN WHICH A NOTABLE PLAN IS DISCUSSED AND DETERMINED ON</h2> + +<p> +It was a chill, damp, windy night, when the Jew: buttoning his great-coat tight +round his shrivelled body, and pulling the collar up over his ears so as +completely to obscure the lower part of his face: emerged from his den. He +paused on the step as the door was locked and chained behind him; and having +listened while the boys made all secure, and until their retreating footsteps +were no longer audible, slunk down the street as quickly as he could. +</p> + +<p> +The house to which Oliver had been conveyed, was in the neighbourhood of +Whitechapel. The Jew stopped for an instant at the corner of the street; and, +glancing suspiciously round, crossed the road, and struck off in the direction +of the Spitalfields. +</p> + +<p> +The mud lay thick upon the stones, and a black mist hung over the streets; the +rain fell sluggishly down, and everything felt cold and clammy to the touch. It +seemed just the night when it befitted such a being as the Jew to be abroad. As +he glided stealthily along, creeping beneath the shelter of the walls and +doorways, the hideous old man seemed like some loathsome reptile, engendered in +the slime and darkness through which he moved: crawling forth, by night, in +search of some rich offal for a meal. +</p> + +<p> +He kept on his course, through many winding and narrow ways, until he reached +Bethnal Green; then, turning suddenly off to the left, he soon became involved +in a maze of the mean and dirty streets which abound in that close and +densely-populated quarter. +</p> + +<p> +The Jew was evidently too familiar with the ground he traversed to be at all +bewildered, either by the darkness of the night, or the intricacies of the way. +He hurried through several alleys and streets, and at length turned into one, +lighted only by a single lamp at the farther end. At the door of a house in +this street, he knocked; having exchanged a few muttered words with the person +who opened it, he walked upstairs. +</p> + +<p> +A dog growled as he touched the handle of a room-door; and a man’s voice +demanded who was there. +</p> + +<p> +“Only me, Bill; only me, my dear,” said the Jew looking in. +</p> + +<p> +“Bring in your body then,” said Sikes. “Lie down, you stupid brute! Don’t you +know the devil when he’s got a great-coat on?” +</p> + +<p> +Apparently, the dog had been somewhat deceived by Mr. Fagin’s outer garment; +for as the Jew unbuttoned it, and threw it over the back of a chair, he retired +to the corner from which he had risen: wagging his tail as he went, to show +that he was as well satisfied as it was in his nature to be. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” said Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, my dear,” replied the Jew.—“Ah! Nancy.” +</p> + +<p> +The latter recognition was uttered with just enough of embarrassment to imply a +doubt of its reception; for Mr. Fagin and his young friend had not met, since +she had interfered in behalf of Oliver. All doubts upon the subject, if he had +any, were speedily removed by the young lady’s behaviour. She took her feet off +the fender, pushed back her chair, and bade Fagin draw up his, without saying +more about it: for it was a cold night, and no mistake. +</p> + +<p> +“It <i>is</i> cold, Nancy dear,” said the Jew, as he warmed his skinny hands +over the fire. “It seems to go right through one,” added the old man, touching +his side. +</p> + +<p> +“It must be a piercer, if it finds its way through your heart,” said Mr. Sikes. +“Give him something to drink, Nancy. Burn my body, make haste! It’s enough to +turn a man ill, to see his lean old carcase shivering in that way, like a ugly +ghost just rose from the grave.” +</p> + +<p> +Nancy quickly brought a bottle from a cupboard, in which there were many: +which, to judge from the diversity of their appearance, were filled with +several kinds of liquids. Sikes pouring out a glass of brandy, bade the Jew +drink it off. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite enough, quite, thankye, Bill,” replied the Jew, putting down the glass +after just setting his lips to it. +</p> + +<p> +“What! You’re afraid of our getting the better of you, are you?” inquired +Sikes, fixing his eyes on the Jew. “Ugh!” +</p> + +<p> +With a hoarse grunt of contempt, Mr. Sikes seized the glass, and threw the +remainder of its contents into the ashes: as a preparatory ceremony to filling +it again for himself: which he did at once. +</p> + +<p> +The Jew glanced round the room, as his companion tossed down the second +glassful; not in curiousity, for he had seen it often before; but in a restless +and suspicious manner habitual to him. It was a meanly furnished apartment, +with nothing but the contents of the closet to induce the belief that its +occupier was anything but a working man; and with no more suspicious articles +displayed to view than two or three heavy bludgeons which stood in a corner, +and a “life-preserver” that hung over the chimney-piece. +</p> + +<p> +“There,” said Sikes, smacking his lips. “Now I’m ready.” +</p> + +<p> +“For business?” inquired the Jew. +</p> + +<p> +“For business,” replied Sikes; “so say what you’ve got to say.” +</p> + +<p> +“About the crib at Chertsey, Bill?” said the Jew, drawing his chair forward, +and speaking in a very low voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Wot about it?” inquired Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! you know what I mean, my dear,” said the Jew. “He knows what I mean, +Nancy; don’t he?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, he don’t,” sneered Mr. Sikes. “Or he won’t, and that’s the same thing. +Speak out, and call things by their right names; don’t sit there, winking and +blinking, and talking to me in hints, as if you warn’t the very first that +thought about the robbery. Wot d’ye mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush, Bill, hush!” said the Jew, who had in vain attempted to stop this burst +of indignation; “somebody will hear us, my dear. Somebody will hear us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let ’em hear!” said Sikes; “I don’t care.” But as Mr. Sikes <i>did</i> care, +on reflection, he dropped his voice as he said the words, and grew calmer. +</p> + +<p> +“There, there,” said the Jew, coaxingly. “It was only my caution, nothing more. +Now, my dear, about that crib at Chertsey; when is it to be done, Bill, eh? +When is it to be done? Such plate, my dear, such plate!” said the Jew: rubbing +his hands, and elevating his eyebrows in a rapture of anticipation. +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all,” replied Sikes coldly. +</p> + +<p> +“Not to be done at all!” echoed the Jew, leaning back in his chair. +</p> + +<p> +“No, not at all,” rejoined Sikes. “At least it can’t be a put-up job, as we +expected.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it hasn’t been properly gone about,” said the Jew, turning pale with +anger. “Don’t tell me!” +</p> + +<p> +“But I will tell you,” retorted Sikes. “Who are you that’s not to be told? I +tell you that Toby Crackit has been hanging about the place for a fortnight, +and he can’t get one of the servants in line.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to tell me, Bill,” said the Jew: softening as the other grew +heated: “that neither of the two men in the house can be got over?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I do mean to tell you so,” replied Sikes. “The old lady has had ’em these +twenty years; and if you were to give ’em five hundred pound, they wouldn’t be +in it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But do you mean to say, my dear,” remonstrated the Jew, “that the women can’t +be got over?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a bit of it,” replied Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +“Not by flash Toby Crackit?” said the Jew incredulously. “Think what women are, +Bill,” +</p> + +<p> +“No; not even by flash Toby Crackit,” replied Sikes. “He says he’s worn sham +whiskers, and a canary waistcoat, the whole blessed time he’s been loitering +down there, and it’s all of no use.” +</p> + +<p> +“He should have tried mustachios and a pair of military trousers, my dear,” +said the Jew. +</p> + +<p> +“So he did,” rejoined Sikes, “and they warn’t of no more use than the other +plant.” +</p> + +<p> +The Jew looked blank at this information. After ruminating for some minutes +with his chin sunk on his breast, he raised his head and said, with a deep +sigh, that if flash Toby Crackit reported aright, he feared the game was up. +</p> + +<p> +“And yet,” said the old man, dropping his hands on his knees, “it’s a sad +thing, my dear, to lose so much when we had set our hearts upon it.” +</p> + +<p> +“So it is,” said Mr. Sikes. “Worse luck!” +</p> + +<p> +A long silence ensued; during which the Jew was plunged in deep thought, with +his face wrinkled into an expression of villainy perfectly demoniacal. Sikes +eyed him furtively from time to time. Nancy, apparently fearful of irritating +the housebreaker, sat with her eyes fixed upon the fire, as if she had been +deaf to all that passed. +</p> + +<p> +“Fagin,” said Sikes, abruptly breaking the stillness that prevailed; “is it +worth fifty shiners extra, if it’s safely done from the outside?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the Jew, as suddenly rousing himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it a bargain?” inquired Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, my dear, yes,” rejoined the Jew; his eyes glistening, and every muscle in +his face working, with the excitement that the inquiry had awakened. +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” said Sikes, thrusting aside the Jew’s hand, with some disdain, “let it +come off as soon as you like. Toby and me were over the garden-wall the night +afore last, sounding the panels of the door and shutters. The crib’s barred up +at night like a jail; but there’s one part we can crack, safe and softly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Which is that, Bill?” asked the Jew eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” whispered Sikes, “as you cross the lawn—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” said the Jew, bending his head forward, with his eyes almost starting +out of it. +</p> + +<p> +“Umph!” cried Sikes, stopping short, as the girl, scarcely moving her head, +looked suddenly round, and pointed for an instant to the Jew’s face. “Never +mind which part it is. You can’t do it without me, I know; but it’s best to be +on the safe side when one deals with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“As you like, my dear, as you like” replied the Jew. “Is there no help wanted, +but yours and Toby’s?” +</p> + +<p> +“None,” said Sikes, “’cept a centre-bit and a boy. The first we’ve both got; +the second you must find us.” +</p> + +<p> +“A boy!” exclaimed the Jew. “Oh! then it’s a panel, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind wot it is!” replied Sikes. “I want a boy, and he musn’t be a big +’un. Lord!” said Mr. Sikes, reflectively, “if I’d only got that young boy of +Ned, the chimbley-sweeper’s! He kept him small on purpose, and let him out by +the job. But the father gets lagged; and then the Juvenile Delinquent Society +comes, and takes the boy away from a trade where he was earning money, teaches +him to read and write, and in time makes a ’prentice of him. And so they go +on,” said Mr. Sikes, his wrath rising with the recollection of his wrongs, “so +they go on; and, if they’d got money enough (which it’s a Providence they +haven’t,) we shouldn’t have half a dozen boys left in the whole trade, in a +year or two.” +</p> + +<p> +“No more we should,” acquiesced the Jew, who had been considering during this +speech, and had only caught the last sentence. “Bill!” +</p> + +<p> +“What now?” inquired Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +The Jew nodded his head towards Nancy, who was still gazing at the fire; and +intimated, by a sign, that he would have her told to leave the room. Sikes +shrugged his shoulders impatiently, as if he thought the precaution +unnecessary; but complied, nevertheless, by requesting Miss Nancy to fetch him +a jug of beer. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t want any beer,” said Nancy, folding her arms, and retaining her seat +very composedly. +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you I do!” replied Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense,” rejoined the girl coolly, “Go on, Fagin. I know what he’s going to +say, Bill; he needn’t mind me.” +</p> + +<p> +The Jew still hesitated. Sikes looked from one to the other in some surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you don’t mind the old girl, do you, Fagin?” he asked at length. “You’ve +known her long enough to trust her, or the Devil’s in it. She ain’t one to +blab. Are you Nancy?” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I</i> should think not!” replied the young lady: drawing her chair up to +the table, and putting her elbows upon it. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, my dear, I know you’re not,” said the Jew; “but—” and again the old +man paused. +</p> + +<p> +“But wot?” inquired Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know whether she mightn’t p’r’aps be out of sorts, you know, my dear, +as she was the other night,” replied the Jew. +</p> + +<p> +At this confession, Miss Nancy burst into a loud laugh; and, swallowing a glass +of brandy, shook her head with an air of defiance, and burst into sundry +exclamations of “Keep the game a-going!” “Never say die!” and the like. These +seemed to have the effect of re-assuring both gentlemen; for the Jew nodded his +head with a satisfied air, and resumed his seat: as did Mr. Sikes likewise. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Fagin,” said Nancy with a laugh. “Tell Bill at once, about Oliver!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! you’re a clever one, my dear: the sharpest girl I ever saw!” said the Jew, +patting her on the neck. “It <i>was</i> about Oliver I was going to speak, sure +enough. Ha! ha! ha!” +</p> + +<p> +“What about him?” demanded Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s the boy for you, my dear,” replied the Jew in a hoarse whisper; laying +his finger on the side of his nose, and grinning frightfully. +</p> + +<p> +“He!” exclaimed Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +“Have him, Bill!” said Nancy. “I would, if I was in your place. He mayn’t be so +much up, as any of the others; but that’s not what you want, if he’s only to +open a door for you. Depend upon it he’s a safe one, Bill.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know he is,” rejoined Fagin. “He’s been in good training these last few +weeks, and it’s time he began to work for his bread. Besides, the others are +all too big.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, he is just the size I want,” said Mr. Sikes, ruminating. +</p> + +<p> +“And will do everything you want, Bill, my dear,” interposed the Jew; “he can’t +help himself. That is, if you frighten him enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“Frighten him!” echoed Sikes. “It’ll be no sham frightening, mind you. If +there’s anything queer about him when we once get into the work; in for a +penny, in for a pound. You won’t see him alive again, Fagin. Think of that, +before you send him. Mark my words!” said the robber, poising a crowbar, which +he had drawn from under the bedstead. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve thought of it all,” said the Jew with energy. “I’ve—I’ve had my eye upon +him, my dears, close—close. Once let him feel that he is one of us; once fill +his mind with the idea that he has been a thief; and he’s ours! Ours for his +life. Oho! It couldn’t have come about better!” The old man crossed his arms +upon his breast; and, drawing his head and shoulders into a heap, literally +hugged himself for joy. +</p> + +<p> +“Ours!” said Sikes. “Yours, you mean.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps I do, my dear,” said the Jew, with a shrill chuckle. “Mine, if you +like, Bill.” +</p> + +<p> +“And wot,” said Sikes, scowling fiercely on his agreeable friend, “wot makes +you take so much pains about one chalk-faced kid, when you know there are fifty +boys snoozing about Common Garden every night, as you might pick and choose +from?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because they’re of no use to me, my dear,” replied the Jew, with some +confusion, “not worth the taking. Their looks convict ’em when they get into +trouble, and I lose ’em all. With this boy, properly managed, my dears, I could +do what I couldn’t with twenty of them. Besides,” said the Jew, recovering his +self-possession, “he has us now if he could only give us leg-bail again; and he +must be in the same boat with us. Never mind how he came there; it’s quite +enough for my power over him that he was in a robbery; that’s all I want. Now, +how much better this is, than being obliged to put the poor leetle boy out of +the way—which would be dangerous, and we should lose by it besides.” +</p> + +<p> +“When is it to be done?” asked Nancy, stopping some turbulent exclamation on +the part of Mr. Sikes, expressive of the disgust with which he received Fagin’s +affectation of humanity. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, to be sure,” said the Jew; “when is it to be done, Bill?” +</p> + +<p> +“I planned with Toby, the night arter tomorrow,” rejoined Sikes in a surly +voice, “if he heerd nothing from me to the contrairy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good,” said the Jew; “there’s no moon.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” rejoined Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all arranged about bringing off the swag, is it?” asked the Jew. +</p> + +<p> +Sikes nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“And about—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, ah, it’s all planned,” rejoined Sikes, interrupting him. “Never mind +particulars. You’d better bring the boy here tomorrow night. I shall get off +the stone an hour arter daybreak. Then you hold your tongue, and keep the +melting-pot ready, and that’s all you’ll have to do.” +</p> + +<p> +After some discussion, in which all three took an active part, it was decided +that Nancy should repair to the Jew’s next evening when the night had set in, +and bring Oliver away with her; Fagin craftily observing, that, if he evinced +any disinclination to the task, he would be more willing to accompany the girl +who had so recently interfered in his behalf, than anybody else. It was also +solemnly arranged that poor Oliver should, for the purposes of the contemplated +expedition, be unreservedly consigned to the care and custody of Mr. William +Sikes; and further, that the said Sikes should deal with him as he thought fit; +and should not be held responsible by the Jew for any mischance or evil that +might be necessary to visit him: it being understood that, to render the +compact in this respect binding, any representations made by Mr. Sikes on his +return should be required to be confirmed and corroborated, in all important +particulars, by the testimony of flash Toby Crackit. +</p> + +<p> +These preliminaries adjusted, Mr. Sikes proceeded to drink brandy at a furious +rate, and to flourish the crowbar in an alarming manner; yelling forth, at the +same time, most unmusical snatches of song, mingled with wild execrations. At +length, in a fit of professional enthusiasm, he insisted upon producing his box +of housebreaking tools: which he had no sooner stumbled in with, and opened for +the purpose of explaining the nature and properties of the various implements +it contained, and the peculiar beauties of their construction, than he fell +over the box upon the floor, and went to sleep where he fell. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night, Nancy,” said the Jew, muffling himself up as before. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night.” +</p> + +<p> +Their eyes met, and the Jew scrutinised her, narrowly. There was no flinching +about the girl. She was as true and earnest in the matter as Toby Crackit +himself could be. +</p> + +<p> +The Jew again bade her good-night, and, bestowing a sly kick upon the prostrate +form of Mr. Sikes while her back was turned, groped downstairs. +</p> + +<p> +“Always the way!” muttered the Jew to himself as he turned homeward. “The worst +of these women is, that a very little thing serves to call up some +long-forgotten feeling; and, the best of them is, that it never lasts. Ha! ha! +The man against the child, for a bag of gold!” +</p> + +<p> +Beguiling the time with these pleasant reflections, Mr. Fagin wended his way, +through mud and mire, to his gloomy abode: where the Dodger was sitting up, +impatiently awaiting his return. +</p> + +<p> +“Is Oliver a-bed? I want to speak to him,” was his first remark as they +descended the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +“Hours ago,” replied the Dodger, throwing open a door. “Here he is!” +</p> + +<p> +The boy was lying, fast asleep, on a rude bed upon the floor; so pale with +anxiety, and sadness, and the closeness of his prison, that he looked like +death; not death as it shows in shroud and coffin, but in the guise it wears +when life has just departed; when a young and gentle spirit has, but an +instant, fled to Heaven, and the gross air of the world has not had time to +breathe upon the changing dust it hallowed. +</p> + +<p> +“Not now,” said the Jew, turning softly away. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a> CHAPTER XX.<br/> +WHEREIN OLIVER IS DELIVERED OVER TO MR. WILLIAM SIKES</h2> + +<p> +When Oliver awoke in the morning, he was a good deal surprised to find that a +new pair of shoes, with strong thick soles, had been placed at his bedside; and +that his old shoes had been removed. At first, he was pleased with the +discovery: hoping that it might be the forerunner of his release; but such +thoughts were quickly dispelled, on his sitting down to breakfast along with +the Jew, who told him, in a tone and manner which increased his alarm, that he +was to be taken to the residence of Bill Sikes that night. +</p> + +<p> +“To—to—stop there, sir?” asked Oliver, anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, my dear. Not to stop there,” replied the Jew. “We shouldn’t like to +lose you. Don’t be afraid, Oliver, you shall come back to us again. Ha! ha! ha! +We won’t be so cruel as to send you away, my dear. Oh no, no!” +</p> + +<p> +The old man, who was stooping over the fire toasting a piece of bread, looked +round as he bantered Oliver thus; and chuckled as if to show that he knew he +would still be very glad to get away if he could. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose,” said the Jew, fixing his eyes on Oliver, “you want to know what +you’re going to Bill’s for—eh, my dear?” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver coloured, involuntarily, to find that the old thief had been reading his +thoughts; but boldly said, Yes, he did want to know. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, do you think?” inquired Fagin, parrying the question. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed I don’t know, sir,” replied Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“Bah!” said the Jew, turning away with a disappointed countenance from a close +perusal of the boy’s face. “Wait till Bill tells you, then.” +</p> + +<p> +The Jew seemed much vexed by Oliver’s not expressing any greater curiosity on +the subject; but the truth is, that, although Oliver felt very anxious, he was +too much confused by the earnest cunning of Fagin’s looks, and his own +speculations, to make any further inquiries just then. He had no other +opportunity: for the Jew remained very surly and silent till night: when he +prepared to go abroad. +</p> + +<p> +“You may burn a candle,” said the Jew, putting one upon the table. “And here’s +a book for you to read, till they come to fetch you. Good-night!” +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night!” replied Oliver, softly. +</p> + +<p> +The Jew walked to the door: looking over his shoulder at the boy as he went. +Suddenly stopping, he called him by his name. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver looked up; the Jew, pointing to the candle, motioned him to light it. He +did so; and, as he placed the candlestick upon the table, saw that the Jew was +gazing fixedly at him, with lowering and contracted brows, from the dark end of +the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Take heed, Oliver! take heed!” said the old man, shaking his right hand before +him in a warning manner. “He’s a rough man, and thinks nothing of blood when +his own is up. Whatever falls out, say nothing; and do what he bids you. Mind!” +Placing a strong emphasis on the last word, he suffered his features gradually +to resolve themselves into a ghastly grin, and, nodding his head, left the +room. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver leaned his head upon his hand when the old man disappeared, and +pondered, with a trembling heart, on the words he had just heard. The more he +thought of the Jew’s admonition, the more he was at a loss to divine its real +purpose and meaning. +</p> + +<p> +He could think of no bad object to be attained by sending him to Sikes, which +would not be equally well answered by his remaining with Fagin; and after +meditating for a long time, concluded that he had been selected to perform some +ordinary menial offices for the housebreaker, until another boy, better suited +for his purpose could be engaged. He was too well accustomed to suffering, and +had suffered too much where he was, to bewail the prospect of change very +severely. He remained lost in thought for some minutes; and then, with a heavy +sigh, snuffed the candle, and, taking up the book which the Jew had left with +him, began to read. +</p> + +<p> +He turned over the leaves. Carelessly at first; but, lighting on a passage +which attracted his attention, he soon became intent upon the volume. It was a +history of the lives and trials of great criminals; and the pages were soiled +and thumbed with use. Here, he read of dreadful crimes that made the blood run +cold; of secret murders that had been committed by the lonely wayside; of +bodies hidden from the eye of man in deep pits and wells: which would not keep +them down, deep as they were, but had yielded them up at last, after many +years, and so maddened the murderers with the sight, that in their horror they +had confessed their guilt, and yelled for the gibbet to end their agony. Here, +too, he read of men who, lying in their beds at dead of night, had been tempted +(so they said) and led on, by their own bad thoughts, to such dreadful +bloodshed as it made the flesh creep, and the limbs quail, to think of. The +terrible descriptions were so real and vivid, that the sallow pages seemed to +turn red with gore; and the words upon them, to be sounded in his ears, as if +they were whispered, in hollow murmurs, by the spirits of the dead. +</p> + +<p> +In a paroxysm of fear, the boy closed the book, and thrust it from him. Then, +falling upon his knees, he prayed Heaven to spare him from such deeds; and +rather to will that he should die at once, than be reserved for crimes, so +fearful and appalling. By degrees, he grew more calm, and besought, in a low +and broken voice, that he might be rescued from his present dangers; and that +if any aid were to be raised up for a poor outcast boy who had never known the +love of friends or kindred, it might come to him now, when, desolate and +deserted, he stood alone in the midst of wickedness and guilt. +</p> + +<p> +He had concluded his prayer, but still remained with his head buried in his +hands, when a rustling noise aroused him. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that!” he cried, starting up, and catching sight of a figure standing +by the door. “Who’s there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Me. Only me,” replied a tremulous voice. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver raised the candle above his head: and looked towards the door. It was +Nancy. +</p> + +<p> +“Put down the light,” said the girl, turning away her head. “It hurts my eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver saw that she was very pale, and gently inquired if she were ill. The +girl threw herself into a chair, with her back towards him: and wrung her +hands; but made no reply. +</p> + +<p> +“God forgive me!” she cried after a while, “I never thought of this.” +</p> + +<p> +“Has anything happened?” asked Oliver. “Can I help you? I will if I can. I +will, indeed.” +</p> + +<p> +She rocked herself to and fro; caught her throat; and, uttering a gurgling +sound, gasped for breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Nancy!” cried Oliver, “What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl beat her hands upon her knees, and her feet upon the ground; and, +suddenly stopping, drew her shawl close round her: and shivered with cold. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver stirred the fire. Drawing her chair close to it, she sat there, for a +little time, without speaking; but at length she raised her head, and looked +round. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what comes over me sometimes,” said she, affecting to busy +herself in arranging her dress; “it’s this damp dirty room, I think. Now, +Nolly, dear, are you ready?” +</p> + +<p> +“Am I to go with you?” asked Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I have come from Bill,” replied the girl. “You are to go with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“What for?” asked Oliver, recoiling. +</p> + +<p> +“What for?” echoed the girl, raising her eyes, and averting them again, the +moment they encountered the boy’s face. “Oh! For no harm.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe it,” said Oliver: who had watched her closely. +</p> + +<p> +“Have it your own way,” rejoined the girl, affecting to laugh. “For no good, +then.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver could see that he had some power over the girl’s better feelings, and, +for an instant, thought of appealing to her compassion for his helpless state. +But, then, the thought darted across his mind that it was barely eleven +o’clock; and that many people were still in the streets: of whom surely some +might be found to give credence to his tale. As the reflection occured to him, +he stepped forward: and said, somewhat hastily, that he was ready. +</p> + +<p> +Neither his brief consideration, nor its purport, was lost on his companion. +She eyed him narrowly, while he spoke; and cast upon him a look of intelligence +which sufficiently showed that she guessed what had been passing in his +thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush!” said the girl, stooping over him, and pointing to the door as she +looked cautiously round. “You can’t help yourself. I have tried hard for you, +but all to no purpose. You are hedged round and round. If ever you are to get +loose from here, this is not the time.” +</p> + +<p> +Struck by the energy of her manner, Oliver looked up in her face with great +surprise. She seemed to speak the truth; her countenance was white and +agitated; and she trembled with very earnestness. +</p> + +<p> +“I have saved you from being ill-used once, and I will again, and I do now,” +continued the girl aloud; “for those who would have fetched you, if I had not, +would have been far more rough than me. I have promised for your being quiet +and silent; if you are not, you will only do harm to yourself and me too, and +perhaps be my death. See here! I have borne all this for you already, as true +as God sees me show it.” +</p> + +<p> +She pointed, hastily, to some livid bruises on her neck and arms; and +continued, with great rapidity: +</p> + +<p> +“Remember this! And don’t let me suffer more for you, just now. If I could help +you, I would; but I have not the power. They don’t mean to harm you; whatever +they make you do, is no fault of yours. Hush! Every word from you is a blow for +me. Give me your hand. Make haste! Your hand!” +</p> + +<p> +She caught the hand which Oliver instinctively placed in hers, and, blowing out +the light, drew him after her up the stairs. The door was opened, quickly, by +some one shrouded in the darkness, and was as quickly closed, when they had +passed out. A hackney-cabriolet was in waiting; with the same vehemence which +she had exhibited in addressing Oliver, the girl pulled him in with her, and +drew the curtains close. The driver wanted no directions, but lashed his horse +into full speed, without the delay of an instant. +</p> + +<p> +The girl still held Oliver fast by the hand, and continued to pour into his +ear, the warnings and assurances she had already imparted. All was so quick and +hurried, that he had scarcely time to recollect where he was, or how he came +there, when the carriage stopped at the house to which the Jew’s steps had been +directed on the previous evening. +</p> + +<p> +For one brief moment, Oliver cast a hurried glance along the empty street, and +a cry for help hung upon his lips. But the girl’s voice was in his ear, +beseeching him in such tones of agony to remember her, that he had not the +heart to utter it. While he hesitated, the opportunity was gone; he was already +in the house, and the door was shut. +</p> + +<p> +“This way,” said the girl, releasing her hold for the first time. “Bill!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hallo!” replied Sikes: appearing at the head of the stairs, with a candle. +“Oh! That’s the time of day. Come on!” +</p> + +<p> +This was a very strong expression of approbation, an uncommonly hearty welcome, +from a person of Mr. Sikes’ temperament. Nancy, appearing much gratified +thereby, saluted him cordially. +</p> + +<p> +“Bull’s-eye’s gone home with Tom,” observed Sikes, as he lighted them up. “He’d +have been in the way.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right,” rejoined Nancy. +</p> + +<p> +“So you’ve got the kid,” said Sikes when they had all reached the room: closing +the door as he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, here he is,” replied Nancy. +</p> + +<p> +“Did he come quiet?” inquired Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +“Like a lamb,” rejoined Nancy. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad to hear it,” said Sikes, looking grimly at Oliver; “for the sake of +his young carcase: as would otherways have suffered for it. Come here, young +’un; and let me read you a lectur’, which is as well got over at once.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus addressing his new pupil, Mr. Sikes pulled off Oliver’s cap and threw it +into a corner; and then, taking him by the shoulder, sat himself down by the +table, and stood the boy in front of him. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, first: do you know wot this is?” inquired Sikes, taking up a +pocket-pistol which lay on the table. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver replied in the affirmative. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, look here,” continued Sikes. “This is powder; that ’ere’s a +bullet; and this is a little bit of a old hat for waddin’.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver murmured his comprehension of the different bodies referred to; and Mr. +Sikes proceeded to load the pistol, with great nicety and deliberation. +</p> + +<p> +“Now it’s loaded,” said Mr. Sikes, when he had finished. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I see it is, sir,” replied Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the robber, grasping Oliver’s wrist, and putting the barrel so +close to his temple that they touched; at which moment the boy could not +repress a start; “if you speak a word when you’re out o’doors with me, except +when I speak to you, that loading will be in your head without notice. So, if +you <i>do</i> make up your mind to speak without leave, say your prayers +first.” +</p> + +<p> +Having bestowed a scowl upon the object of this warning, to increase its +effect, Mr. Sikes continued. +</p> + +<p> +“As near as I know, there isn’t anybody as would be asking very partickler +arter you, if you <i>was</i> disposed of; so I needn’t take this devil-and-all +of trouble to explain matters to you, if it warn’t for your own good. D’ye hear +me?” +</p> + +<p> +“The short and the long of what you mean,” said Nancy: speaking very +emphatically, and slightly frowning at Oliver as if to bespeak his serious +attention to her words: “is, that if you’re crossed by him in this job you have +on hand, you’ll prevent his ever telling tales afterwards, by shooting him +through the head, and will take your chance of swinging for it, as you do for a +great many other things in the way of business, every month of your life.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it!” observed Mr. Sikes, approvingly; “women can always put things in +fewest words.—Except when it’s blowing up; and then they lengthens it out. And +now that he’s thoroughly up to it, let’s have some supper, and get a snooze +before starting.” +</p> + +<p> +In pursuance of this request, Nancy quickly laid the cloth; disappearing for a +few minutes, she presently returned with a pot of porter and a dish of sheep’s +heads: which gave occasion to several pleasant witticisms on the part of Mr. +Sikes, founded upon the singular coincidence of “jemmies” being a can name, +common to them, and also to an ingenious implement much used in his profession. +Indeed, the worthy gentleman, stimulated perhaps by the immediate prospect of +being on active service, was in great spirits and good humour; in proof +whereof, it may be here remarked, that he humourously drank all the beer at a +draught, and did not utter, on a rough calculation, more than four-score oaths +during the whole progress of the meal. +</p> + +<p> +Supper being ended—it may be easily conceived that Oliver had no great appetite +for it—Mr. Sikes disposed of a couple of glasses of spirits and water, and +threw himself on the bed; ordering Nancy, with many imprecations in case of +failure, to call him at five precisely. Oliver stretched himself in his +clothes, by command of the same authority, on a mattress upon the floor; and +the girl, mending the fire, sat before it, in readiness to rouse them at the +appointed time. +</p> + +<p> +For a long time Oliver lay awake, thinking it not impossible that Nancy might +seek that opportunity of whispering some further advice; but the girl sat +brooding over the fire, without moving, save now and then to trim the light. +Weary with watching and anxiety, he at length fell asleep. +</p> + +<p> +When he awoke, the table was covered with tea-things, and Sikes was thrusting +various articles into the pockets of his great-coat, which hung over the back +of a chair. Nancy was busily engaged in preparing breakfast. It was not yet +daylight; for the candle was still burning, and it was quite dark outside. A +sharp rain, too, was beating against the window-panes; and the sky looked black +and cloudy. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, then!” growled Sikes, as Oliver started up; “half-past five! Look sharp, +or you’ll get no breakfast; for it’s late as it is.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver was not long in making his toilet; having taken some breakfast, he +replied to a surly inquiry from Sikes, by saying that he was quite ready. +</p> + +<p> +Nancy, scarcely looking at the boy, threw him a handkerchief to tie round his +throat; Sikes gave him a large rough cape to button over his shoulders. Thus +attired, he gave his hand to the robber, who, merely pausing to show him with a +menacing gesture that he had that same pistol in a side-pocket of his +great-coat, clasped it firmly in his, and, exchanging a farewell with Nancy, +led him away. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver turned, for an instant, when they reached the door, in the hope of +meeting a look from the girl. But she had resumed her old seat in front of the +fire, and sat, perfectly motionless before it. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a> CHAPTER XXI.<br/> +THE EXPEDITION</h2> + +<p> +It was a cheerless morning when they got into the street; blowing and raining +hard; and the clouds looking dull and stormy. The night had been very wet: +large pools of water had collected in the road: and the kennels were +overflowing. There was a faint glimmering of the coming day in the sky; but it +rather aggravated than relieved the gloom of the scene: the sombre light only +serving to pale that which the street lamps afforded, without shedding any +warmer or brighter tints upon the wet house-tops, and dreary streets. There +appeared to be nobody stirring in that quarter of the town; the windows of the +houses were all closely shut; and the streets through which they passed, were +noiseless and empty. +</p> + +<p> +By the time they had turned into the Bethnal Green Road, the day had fairly +begun to break. Many of the lamps were already extinguished; a few country +waggons were slowly toiling on, towards London; now and then, a stage-coach, +covered with mud, rattled briskly by: the driver bestowing, as he passed, an +admonitory lash upon the heavy waggoner who, by keeping on the wrong side of +the road, had endangered his arriving at the office, a quarter of a minute +after his time. The public-houses, with gas-lights burning inside, were already +open. By degrees, other shops began to be unclosed, and a few scattered people +were met with. Then, came straggling groups of labourers going to their work; +then, men and women with fish-baskets on their heads; donkey-carts laden with +vegetables; chaise-carts filled with live-stock or whole carcasses of meat; +milk-women with pails; an unbroken concourse of people, trudging out with +various supplies to the eastern suburbs of the town. As they approached the +City, the noise and traffic gradually increased; when they threaded the streets +between Shoreditch and Smithfield, it had swelled into a roar of sound and +bustle. It was as light as it was likely to be, till night came on again, and +the busy morning of half the London population had begun. +</p> + +<p> +Turning down Sun Street and Crown Street, and crossing Finsbury square, Mr. +Sikes struck, by way of Chiswell Street, into Barbican: thence into Long Lane, +and so into Smithfield; from which latter place arose a tumult of discordant +sounds that filled Oliver Twist with amazement. +</p> + +<p> +It was market-morning. The ground was covered, nearly ankle-deep, with filth +and mire; a thick steam, perpetually rising from the reeking bodies of the +cattle, and mingling with the fog, which seemed to rest upon the chimney-tops, +hung heavily above. All the pens in the centre of the large area, and as many +temporary pens as could be crowded into the vacant space, were filled with +sheep; tied up to posts by the gutter side were long lines of beasts and oxen, +three or four deep. Countrymen, butchers, drovers, hawkers, boys, thieves, +idlers, and vagabonds of every low grade, were mingled together in a mass; the +whistling of drovers, the barking dogs, the bellowing and plunging of the oxen, +the bleating of sheep, the grunting and squeaking of pigs, the cries of +hawkers, the shouts, oaths, and quarrelling on all sides; the ringing of bells +and roar of voices, that issued from every public-house; the crowding, pushing, +driving, beating, whooping and yelling; the hideous and discordant dim that +resounded from every corner of the market; and the unwashed, unshaven, squalid, +and dirty figures constantly running to and fro, and bursting in and out of the +throng; rendered it a stunning and bewildering scene, which quite confounded +the senses. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Sikes, dragging Oliver after him, elbowed his way through the thickest of +the crowd, and bestowed very little attention on the numerous sights and +sounds, which so astonished the boy. He nodded, twice or thrice, to a passing +friend; and, resisting as many invitations to take a morning dram, pressed +steadily onward, until they were clear of the turmoil, and had made their way +through Hosier Lane into Holborn. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, young ’un!” said Sikes, looking up at the clock of St. Andrew’s Church, +“hard upon seven! you must step out. Come, don’t lag behind already, +Lazy-legs!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Sikes accompanied this speech with a jerk at his little companion’s wrist; +Oliver, quickening his pace into a kind of trot between a fast walk and a run, +kept up with the rapid strides of the house-breaker as well as he could. +</p> + +<p> +They held their course at this rate, until they had passed Hyde Park corner, +and were on their way to Kensington: when Sikes relaxed his pace, until an +empty cart which was at some little distance behind, came up. Seeing “Hounslow” +written on it, he asked the driver with as much civility as he could assume, if +he would give them a lift as far as Isleworth. +</p> + +<p> +“Jump up,” said the man. “Is that your boy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; he’s my boy,” replied Sikes, looking hard at Oliver, and putting his hand +abstractedly into the pocket where the pistol was. +</p> + +<p> +“Your father walks rather too quick for you, don’t he, my man?” inquired the +driver: seeing that Oliver was out of breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a bit of it,” replied Sikes, interposing. “He’s used to it. Here, take +hold of my hand, Ned. In with you!” +</p> + +<p> +Thus addressing Oliver, he helped him into the cart; and the driver, pointing +to a heap of sacks, told him to lie down there, and rest himself. +</p> + +<p> +As they passed the different mile-stones, Oliver wondered, more and more, where +his companion meant to take him. Kensington, Hammersmith, Chiswick, Kew Bridge, +Brentford, were all passed; and yet they went on as steadily as if they had +only just begun their journey. At length, they came to a public-house called +the Coach and Horses; a little way beyond which, another road appeared to run +off. And here, the cart stopped. +</p> + +<p> +Sikes dismounted with great precipitation, holding Oliver by the hand all the +while; and lifting him down directly, bestowed a furious look upon him, and +rapped the side-pocket with his fist, in a significant manner. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye, boy,” said the man. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s sulky,” replied Sikes, giving him a shake; “he’s sulky. A young dog! +Don’t mind him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not I!” rejoined the other, getting into his cart. “It’s a fine day, after +all.” And he drove away. +</p> + +<p> +Sikes waited until he had fairly gone; and then, telling Oliver he might look +about him if he wanted, once again led him onward on his journey. +</p> + +<p> +They turned round to the left, a short way past the public-house; and then, +taking a right-hand road, walked on for a long time: passing many large gardens +and gentlemen’s houses on both sides of the way, and stopping for nothing but a +little beer, until they reached a town. Here against the wall of a house, +Oliver saw written up in pretty large letters, “Hampton.” They lingered about, +in the fields, for some hours. At length they came back into the town; and, +turning into an old public-house with a defaced sign-board, ordered some dinner +by the kitchen fire. +</p> + +<p> +The kitchen was an old, low-roofed room; with a great beam across the middle of +the ceiling, and benches, with high backs to them, by the fire; on which were +seated several rough men in smock-frocks, drinking and smoking. They took no +notice of Oliver; and very little of Sikes; and, as Sikes took very little +notice of them, he and his young comrade sat in a corner by themselves, without +being much troubled by their company. +</p> + +<p> +They had some cold meat for dinner, and sat so long after it, while Mr. Sikes +indulged himself with three or four pipes, that Oliver began to feel quite +certain they were not going any further. Being much tired with the walk, and +getting up so early, he dozed a little at first; then, quite overpowered by +fatigue and the fumes of the tobacco, fell asleep. +</p> + +<p> +It was quite dark when he was awakened by a push from Sikes. Rousing himself +sufficiently to sit up and look about him, he found that worthy in close +fellowship and communication with a labouring man, over a pint of ale. +</p> + +<p> +“So, you’re going on to Lower Halliford, are you?” inquired Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I am,” replied the man, who seemed a little the worse—or better, as the +case might be—for drinking; “and not slow about it neither. My horse hasn’t got +a load behind him going back, as he had coming up in the mornin’; and he won’t +be long a-doing of it. Here’s luck to him. Ecod! he’s a good ’un!” +</p> + +<p> +“Could you give my boy and me a lift as far as there?” demanded Sikes, pushing +the ale towards his new friend. +</p> + +<p> +“If you’re going directly, I can,” replied the man, looking out of the pot. +“Are you going to Halliford?” +</p> + +<p> +“Going on to Shepperton,” replied Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m your man, as far as I go,” replied the other. “Is all paid, Becky?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, the other gentleman’s paid,” replied the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“I say!” said the man, with tipsy gravity; “that won’t do, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” rejoined Sikes. “You’re a-going to accommodate us, and wot’s to +prevent my standing treat for a pint or so, in return?” +</p> + +<p> +The stranger reflected upon this argument, with a very profound face; having +done so, he seized Sikes by the hand: and declared he was a real good fellow. +To which Mr. Sikes replied, he was joking; as, if he had been sober, there +would have been strong reason to suppose he was. +</p> + +<p> +After the exchange of a few more compliments, they bade the company good-night, +and went out; the girl gathering up the pots and glasses as they did so, and +lounging out to the door, with her hands full, to see the party start. +</p> + +<p> +The horse, whose health had been drunk in his absence, was standing outside: +ready harnessed to the cart. Oliver and Sikes got in without any further +ceremony; and the man to whom he belonged, having lingered for a minute or two +“to bear him up,” and to defy the hostler and the world to produce his equal, +mounted also. Then, the hostler was told to give the horse his head; and, his +head being given him, he made a very unpleasant use of it: tossing it into the +air with great disdain, and running into the parlour windows over the way; +after performing those feats, and supporting himself for a short time on his +hind-legs, he started off at great speed, and rattled out of the town right +gallantly. +</p> + +<p> +The night was very dark. A damp mist rose from the river, and the marshy ground +about; and spread itself over the dreary fields. It was piercing cold, too; all +was gloomy and black. Not a word was spoken; for the driver had grown sleepy; +and Sikes was in no mood to lead him into conversation. Oliver sat huddled +together, in a corner of the cart; bewildered with alarm and apprehension; and +figuring strange objects in the gaunt trees, whose branches waved grimly to and +fro, as if in some fantastic joy at the desolation of the scene. +</p> + +<p> +As they passed Sunbury Church, the clock struck seven. There was a light in the +ferry-house window opposite: which streamed across the road, and threw into +more sombre shadow a dark yew-tree with graves beneath it. There was a dull +sound of falling water not far off; and the leaves of the old tree stirred +gently in the night wind. It seemed like quiet music for the repose of the +dead. +</p> + +<p> +Sunbury was passed through, and they came again into the lonely road. Two or +three miles more, and the cart stopped. Sikes alighted, took Oliver by the +hand, and they once again walked on. +</p> + +<p> +They turned into no house at Shepperton, as the weary boy had expected; but +still kept walking on, in mud and darkness, through gloomy lanes and over cold +open wastes, until they came within sight of the lights of a town at no great +distance. On looking intently forward, Oliver saw that the water was just below +them, and that they were coming to the foot of a bridge. +</p> + +<p> +Sikes kept straight on, until they were close upon the bridge; then turned +suddenly down a bank upon the left. +</p> + +<p> +“The water!” thought Oliver, turning sick with fear. “He has brought me to this +lonely place to murder me!” +</p> + +<p> +He was about to throw himself on the ground, and make one struggle for his +young life, when he saw that they stood before a solitary house: all ruinous +and decayed. There was a window on each side of the dilapidated entrance; and +one story above; but no light was visible. The house was dark, dismantled: and, +to all appearance, uninhabited. +</p> + +<p> +Sikes, with Oliver’s hand still in his, softly approached the low porch, and +raised the latch. The door yielded to the pressure, and they passed in +together. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a> CHAPTER XXII.<br/> +THE BURGLARY</h2> + +<p> +“Hallo!” cried a loud, hoarse voice, as soon as they set foot in the passage. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t make such a row,” said Sikes, bolting the door. “Show a glim, Toby.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aha! my pal!” cried the same voice. “A glim, Barney, a glim! Show the +gentleman in, Barney; wake up first, if convenient.” +</p> + +<p> +The speaker appeared to throw a boot-jack, or some such article, at the person +he addressed, to rouse him from his slumbers: for the noise of a wooden body, +falling violently, was heard; and then an indistinct muttering, as of a man +between sleep and awake. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you hear?” cried the same voice. “There’s Bill Sikes in the passage with +nobody to do the civil to him; and you sleeping there, as if you took laudanum +with your meals, and nothing stronger. Are you any fresher now, or do you want +the iron candlestick to wake you thoroughly?” +</p> + +<p> +A pair of slipshod feet shuffled, hastily, across the bare floor of the room, +as this interrogatory was put; and there issued, from a door on the right hand; +first, a feeble candle: and next, the form of the same individual who has been +heretofore described as labouring under the infirmity of speaking through his +nose, and officiating as waiter at the public-house on Saffron Hill. +</p> + +<p> +“Bister Sikes!” exclaimed Barney, with real or counterfeit joy; “cub id, sir; +cub id.” +</p> + +<p> +“Here! you get on first,” said Sikes, putting Oliver in front of him. “Quicker! +or I shall tread upon your heels.” +</p> + +<p> +Muttering a curse upon his tardiness, Sikes pushed Oliver before him; and they +entered a low dark room with a smoky fire, two or three broken chairs, a table, +and a very old couch: on which, with his legs much higher than his head, a man +was reposing at full length, smoking a long clay pipe. He was dressed in a +smartly-cut snuff-coloured coat, with large brass buttons; an orange +neckerchief; a coarse, staring, shawl-pattern waistcoat; and drab breeches. Mr. +Crackit (for he it was) had no very great quantity of hair, either upon his +head or face; but what he had, was of a reddish dye, and tortured into long +corkscrew curls, through which he occasionally thrust some very dirty fingers, +ornamented with large common rings. He was a trifle above the middle size, and +apparently rather weak in the legs; but this circumstance by no means detracted +from his own admiration of his top-boots, which he contemplated, in their +elevated situation, with lively satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +“Bill, my boy!” said this figure, turning his head towards the door, “I’m glad +to see you. I was almost afraid you’d given it up: in which case I should have +made a personal wentur. Hallo!” +</p> + +<p> +Uttering this exclamation in a tone of great surprise, as his eyes rested on +Oliver, Mr. Toby Crackit brought himself into a sitting posture, and demanded +who that was. +</p> + +<p> +“The boy. Only the boy!” replied Sikes, drawing a chair towards the fire. +</p> + +<p> +“Wud of Bister Fagid’s lads,” exclaimed Barney, with a grin. +</p> + +<p> +“Fagin’s, eh!” exclaimed Toby, looking at Oliver. “Wot an inwalable boy that’ll +make, for the old ladies’ pockets in chapels! His mug is a fortin’ to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“There—there’s enough of that,” interposed Sikes, impatiently; and stooping +over his recumbant friend, he whispered a few words in his ear: at which Mr. +Crackit laughed immensely, and honoured Oliver with a long stare of +astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said Sikes, as he resumed his seat, “if you’ll give us something to eat +and drink while we’re waiting, you’ll put some heart in us; or in me, at all +events. Sit down by the fire, younker, and rest yourself; for you’ll have to go +out with us again tonight, though not very far off.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver looked at Sikes, in mute and timid wonder; and drawing a stool to the +fire, sat with his aching head upon his hands, scarcely knowing where he was, +or what was passing around him. +</p> + +<p> +“Here,” said Toby, as the young Jew placed some fragments of food, and a bottle +upon the table, “Success to the crack!” He rose to honour the toast; and, +carefully depositing his empty pipe in a corner, advanced to the table, filled +a glass with spirits, and drank off its contents. Mr. Sikes did the same. +</p> + +<p> +“A drain for the boy,” said Toby, half-filling a wine-glass. “Down with it, +innocence.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed,” said Oliver, looking piteously up into the man’s face; “indeed, I—” +</p> + +<p> +“Down with it!” echoed Toby. “Do you think I don’t know what’s good for you? +Tell him to drink it, Bill.” +</p> + +<p> +“He had better!” said Sikes clapping his hand upon his pocket. “Burn my body, +if he isn’t more trouble than a whole family of Dodgers. Drink it, you perwerse +imp; drink it!” +</p> + +<p> +Frightened by the menacing gestures of the two men, Oliver hastily swallowed +the contents of the glass, and immediately fell into a violent fit of coughing: +which delighted Toby Crackit and Barney, and even drew a smile from the surly +Mr. Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +This done, and Sikes having satisfied his appetite (Oliver could eat nothing +but a small crust of bread which they made him swallow), the two men laid +themselves down on chairs for a short nap. Oliver retained his stool by the +fire; Barney wrapped in a blanket, stretched himself on the floor: close +outside the fender. +</p> + +<p> +They slept, or appeared to sleep, for some time; nobody stirring but Barney, +who rose once or twice to throw coals on the fire. Oliver fell into a heavy +doze: imagining himself straying along the gloomy lanes, or wandering about the +dark churchyard, or retracing some one or other of the scenes of the past day: +when he was roused by Toby Crackit jumping up and declaring it was half-past +one. +</p> + +<p> +In an instant, the other two were on their legs, and all were actively engaged +in busy preparation. Sikes and his companion enveloped their necks and chins in +large dark shawls, and drew on their great-coats; Barney, opening a cupboard, +brought forth several articles, which he hastily crammed into the pockets. +</p> + +<p> +“Barkers for me, Barney,” said Toby Crackit. +</p> + +<p> +“Here they are,” replied Barney, producing a pair of pistols. “You loaded them +yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right!” replied Toby, stowing them away. “The persuaders?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got ’em,” replied Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +“Crape, keys, centre-bits, darkies—nothing forgotten?” inquired Toby: fastening +a small crowbar to a loop inside the skirt of his coat. +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” rejoined his companion. “Bring them bits of timber, Barney. That’s +the time of day.” +</p> + +<p> +With these words, he took a thick stick from Barney’s hands, who, having +delivered another to Toby, busied himself in fastening on Oliver’s cape. +</p> + +<p> +“Now then!” said Sikes, holding out his hand. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver: who was completely stupified by the unwonted exercise, and the air, and +the drink which had been forced upon him: put his hand mechanically into that +which Sikes extended for the purpose. +</p> + +<p> +“Take his other hand, Toby,” said Sikes. “Look out, Barney.” +</p> + +<p> +The man went to the door, and returned to announce that all was quiet. The two +robbers issued forth with Oliver between them. Barney, having made all fast, +rolled himself up as before, and was soon asleep again. +</p> + +<p> +It was now intensely dark. The fog was much heavier than it had been in the +early part of the night; and the atmosphere was so damp, that, although no rain +fell, Oliver’s hair and eyebrows, within a few minutes after leaving the house, +had become stiff with the half-frozen moisture that was floating about. They +crossed the bridge, and kept on towards the lights which he had seen before. +They were at no great distance off; and, as they walked pretty briskly, they +soon arrived at Chertsey. +</p> + +<p> +“Slap through the town,” whispered Sikes; “there’ll be nobody in the way, +tonight, to see us.” +</p> + +<p> +Toby acquiesced; and they hurried through the main street of the little town, +which at that late hour was wholly deserted. A dim light shone at intervals +from some bed-room window; and the hoarse barking of dogs occasionally broke +the silence of the night. But there was nobody abroad. They had cleared the +town, as the church-bell struck two. +</p> + +<p> +Quickening their pace, they turned up a road upon the left hand. After walking +about a quarter of a mile, they stopped before a detached house surrounded by a +wall: to the top of which, Toby Crackit, scarcely pausing to take breath, +climbed in a twinkling. +</p> + +<p> +“The boy next,” said Toby. “Hoist him up; I’ll catch hold of him.” +</p> + +<p> +Before Oliver had time to look round, Sikes had caught him under the arms; and +in three or four seconds he and Toby were lying on the grass on the other side. +Sikes followed directly. And they stole cautiously towards the house. +</p> + +<p> +And now, for the first time, Oliver, well-nigh mad with grief and terror, saw +that housebreaking and robbery, if not murder, were the objects of the +expedition. He clasped his hands together, and involuntarily uttered a subdued +exclamation of horror. A mist came before his eyes; the cold sweat stood upon +his ashy face; his limbs failed him; and he sank upon his knees. +</p> + +<p> +“Get up!” murmured Sikes, trembling with rage, and drawing the pistol from his +pocket; “Get up, or I’ll strew your brains upon the grass.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! for God’s sake let me go!” cried Oliver; “let me run away and die in the +fields. I will never come near London; never, never! Oh! pray have mercy on me, +and do not make me steal. For the love of all the bright Angels that rest in +Heaven, have mercy upon me!” +</p> + +<p> +The man to whom this appeal was made, swore a dreadful oath, and had cocked the +pistol, when Toby, striking it from his grasp, placed his hand upon the boy’s +mouth, and dragged him to the house. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush!” cried the man; “it won’t answer here. Say another word, and I’ll do +your business myself with a crack on the head. That makes no noise, and is +quite as certain, and more genteel. Here, Bill, wrench the shutter open. He’s +game enough now, I’ll engage. I’ve seen older hands of his age took the same +way, for a minute or two, on a cold night.” +</p> + +<p> +Sikes, invoking terrific imprecations upon Fagin’s head for sending Oliver on +such an errand, plied the crowbar vigorously, but with little noise. After some +delay, and some assistance from Toby, the shutter to which he had referred, +swung open on its hinges. +</p> + +<p> +It was a little lattice window, about five feet and a half above the ground, at +the back of the house: which belonged to a scullery, or small brewing-place, at +the end of the passage. The aperture was so small, that the inmates had +probably not thought it worth while to defend it more securely; but it was +large enough to admit a boy of Oliver’s size, nevertheless. A very brief +exercise of Mr. Sike’s art, sufficed to overcome the fastening of the lattice; +and it soon stood wide open also. +</p> + +<p> +“Now listen, you young limb,” whispered Sikes, drawing a dark lantern from his +pocket, and throwing the glare full on Oliver’s face; “I’m a going to put you +through there. Take this light; go softly up the steps straight afore you, and +along the little hall, to the street door; unfasten it, and let us in.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a bolt at the top, you won’t be able to reach,” interposed Toby. +“Stand upon one of the hall chairs. There are three there, Bill, with a jolly +large blue unicorn and gold pitchfork on ’em: which is the old lady’s arms.” +</p> + +<p> +“Keep quiet, can’t you?” replied Sikes, with a threatening look. “The room-door +is open, is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Wide,” replied Toby, after peeping in to satisfy himself. “The game of that +is, that they always leave it open with a catch, so that the dog, who’s got a +bed in here, may walk up and down the passage when he feels wakeful. Ha! ha! +Barney ’ticed him away tonight. So neat!” +</p> + +<p> +Although Mr. Crackit spoke in a scarcely audible whisper, and laughed without +noise, Sikes imperiously commanded him to be silent, and to get to work. Toby +complied, by first producing his lantern, and placing it on the ground; then by +planting himself firmly with his head against the wall beneath the window, and +his hands upon his knees, so as to make a step of his back. This was no sooner +done, than Sikes, mounting upon him, put Oliver gently through the window with +his feet first; and, without leaving hold of his collar, planted him safely on +the floor inside. +</p> + +<p> +“Take this lantern,” said Sikes, looking into the room. “You see the stairs +afore you?” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver, more dead than alive, gasped out, “Yes.” Sikes, pointing to the +street-door with the pistol-barrel, briefly advised him to take notice that he +was within shot all the way; and that if he faltered, he would fall dead that +instant. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s done in a minute,” said Sikes, in the same low whisper. “Directly I leave +go of you, do your work. Hark!” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” whispered the other man. +</p> + +<p> +They listened intently. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” said Sikes, releasing his hold of Oliver. “Now!” +</p> + +<p> +In the short time he had had to collect his senses, the boy had firmly resolved +that, whether he died in the attempt or not, he would make one effort to dart +upstairs from the hall, and alarm the family. Filled with this idea, he +advanced at once, but stealthily. +</p> + +<p> +“Come back!” suddenly cried Sikes aloud. “Back! back!” +</p> + +<p> +Scared by the sudden breaking of the dead stillness of the place, and by a loud +cry which followed it, Oliver let his lantern fall, and knew not whether to +advance or fly. +</p> + +<p> +The cry was repeated—a light appeared—a vision of two terrified half-dressed +men at the top of the stairs swam before his eyes—a flash—a loud noise—a +smoke—a crash somewhere, but where he knew not,—and he staggered back. +</p> + +<p> +Sikes had disappeared for an instant; but he was up again, and had him by the +collar before the smoke had cleared away. He fired his own pistol after the +men, who were already retreating; and dragged the boy up. +</p> + +<p> +“Clasp your arm tighter,” said Sikes, as he drew him through the window. “Give +me a shawl here. They’ve hit him. Quick! How the boy bleeds!” +</p> + +<p> +Then came the loud ringing of a bell, mingled with the noise of fire-arms, and +the shouts of men, and the sensation of being carried over uneven ground at a +rapid pace. And then, the noises grew confused in the distance; and a cold +deadly feeling crept over the boy’s heart; and he saw or heard no more. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap23"></a> CHAPTER XXIII.<br/> +WHICH CONTAINS THE SUBSTANCE OF A PLEASANT CONVERSATION BETWEEN MR. BUMBLE AND +A LADY; AND SHOWS THAT EVEN A BEADLE MAY BE SUSCEPTIBLE ON SOME POINTS</h2> + +<p> +The night was bitter cold. The snow lay on the ground, frozen into a hard thick +crust, so that only the heaps that had drifted into byways and corners were +affected by the sharp wind that howled abroad: which, as if expending increased +fury on such prey as it found, caught it savagely up in clouds, and, whirling +it into a thousand misty eddies, scattered it in air. Bleak, dark, and piercing +cold, it was a night for the well-housed and fed to draw round the bright fire +and thank God they were at home; and for the homeless, starving wretch to lay +him down and die. Many hunger-worn outcasts close their eyes in our bare +streets, at such times, who, let their crimes have been what they may, can +hardly open them in a more bitter world. +</p> + +<p> +Such was the aspect of out-of-doors affairs, when Mrs. Corney, the matron of +the workhouse to which our readers have been already introduced as the +birthplace of Oliver Twist, sat herself down before a cheerful fire in her own +little room, and glanced, with no small degree of complacency, at a small round +table: on which stood a tray of corresponding size, furnished with all +necessary materials for the most grateful meal that matrons enjoy. In fact, +Mrs. Corney was about to solace herself with a cup of tea. As she glanced from +the table to the fireplace, where the smallest of all possible kettles was +singing a small song in a small voice, her inward satisfaction evidently +increased,—so much so, indeed, that Mrs. Corney smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” said the matron, leaning her elbow on the table, and looking +reflectively at the fire; “I’m sure we have all on us a great deal to be +grateful for! A great deal, if we did but know it. Ah!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Corney shook her head mournfully, as if deploring the mental blindness of +those paupers who did not know it; and thrusting a silver spoon (private +property) into the inmost recesses of a two-ounce tin tea-caddy, proceeded to +make the tea. +</p> + +<p> +How slight a thing will disturb the equanimity of our frail minds! The black +teapot, being very small and easily filled, ran over while Mrs. Corney was +moralising; and the water slightly scalded Mrs. Corney’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Drat the pot!” said the worthy matron, setting it down very hastily on the +hob; “a little stupid thing, that only holds a couple of cups! What use is it +of, to anybody! Except,” said Mrs. Corney, pausing, “except to a poor desolate +creature like me. Oh dear!” +</p> + +<p> +With these words, the matron dropped into her chair, and, once more resting her +elbow on the table, thought of her solitary fate. The small teapot, and the +single cup, had awakened in her mind sad recollections of Mr. Corney (who had +not been dead more than five-and-twenty years); and she was overpowered. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall never get another!” said Mrs. Corney, pettishly; “I shall never get +another—like him.” +</p> + +<p> +Whether this remark bore reference to the husband, or the teapot, is uncertain. +It might have been the latter; for Mrs. Corney looked at it as she spoke; and +took it up afterwards. She had just tasted her first cup, when she was +disturbed by a soft tap at the room-door. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, come in with you!” said Mrs. Corney, sharply. “Some of the old women +dying, I suppose. They always die when I’m at meals. Don’t stand there, letting +the cold air in, don’t. What’s amiss now, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing, ma’am, nothing,” replied a man’s voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear me!” exclaimed the matron, in a much sweeter tone, “is that Mr. Bumble?” +</p> + +<p> +“At your service, ma’am,” said Mr. Bumble, who had been stopping outside to rub +his shoes clean, and to shake the snow off his coat; and who now made his +appearance, bearing the cocked hat in one hand and a bundle in the other. +“Shall I shut the door, ma’am?” +</p> + +<p> +The lady modestly hesitated to reply, lest there should be any impropriety in +holding an interview with Mr. Bumble, with closed doors. Mr. Bumble taking +advantage of the hesitation, and being very cold himself, shut it without +permission. +</p> + +<p> +“Hard weather, Mr. Bumble,” said the matron. +</p> + +<p> +“Hard, indeed, ma’am,” replied the beadle. “Anti-porochial weather this, ma’am. +We have given away, Mrs. Corney, we have given away a matter of twenty quartern +loaves and a cheese and a half, this very blessed afternoon; and yet them +paupers are not contented.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not. When would they be, Mr. Bumble?” said the matron, sipping her +tea. +</p> + +<p> +“When, indeed, ma’am!” rejoined Mr. Bumble. “Why here’s one man that, in +consideration of his wife and large family, has a quartern loaf and a good +pound of cheese, full weight. Is he grateful, ma’am? Is he grateful? Not a +copper farthing’s worth of it! What does he do, ma’am, but ask for a few coals; +if it’s only a pocket handkerchief full, he says! Coals! What would he do with +coals? Toast his cheese with ’em and then come back for more. That’s the way +with these people, ma’am; give ’em a apron full of coals today, and they’ll +come back for another, the day after tomorrow, as brazen as alabaster.” +</p> + +<p> +The matron expressed her entire concurrence in this intelligible simile; and +the beadle went on. +</p> + +<p> +“I never,” said Mr. Bumble, “see anything like the pitch it’s got to. The day +afore yesterday, a man—you have been a married woman, ma’am, and I may mention +it to you—a man, with hardly a rag upon his back (here Mrs. Corney looked at +the floor), goes to our overseer’s door when he has got company coming to +dinner; and says, he must be relieved, Mrs. Corney. As he wouldn’t go away, and +shocked the company very much, our overseer sent him out a pound of potatoes +and half a pint of oatmeal. ‘My heart!’ says the ungrateful villain, ‘what’s +the use of <i>this</i> to me? You might as well give me a pair of iron +spectacles!’ ‘Very good,’ says our overseer, taking ’em away again, ‘you won’t +get anything else here.’ ‘Then I’ll die in the streets!’ says the vagrant. ‘Oh +no, you won’t,’ says our overseer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! ha! That was very good! So like Mr. Grannett, wasn’t it?” interposed the +matron. “Well, Mr. Bumble?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, ma’am,” rejoined the beadle, “he went away; and he <i>did</i> die in the +streets. There’s a obstinate pauper for you!” +</p> + +<p> +“It beats anything I could have believed,” observed the matron emphatically. +“But don’t you think out-of-door relief a very bad thing, any way, Mr. Bumble? +You’re a gentleman of experience, and ought to know. Come.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Corney,” said the beadle, smiling as men smile who are conscious of +superior information, “out-of-door relief, properly managed: properly managed, +ma’am: is the porochial safeguard. The great principle of out-of-door relief +is, to give the paupers exactly what they don’t want; and then they get tired +of coming.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear me!” exclaimed Mrs. Corney. “Well, that is a good one, too!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Betwixt you and me, ma’am,” returned Mr. Bumble, “that’s the great +principle; and that’s the reason why, if you look at any cases that get into +them owdacious newspapers, you’ll always observe that sick families have been +relieved with slices of cheese. That’s the rule now, Mrs. Corney, all over the +country. But, however,” said the beadle, stopping to unpack his bundle, “these +are official secrets, ma’am; not to be spoken of; except, as I may say, among +the porochial officers, such as ourselves. This is the port wine, ma’am, that +the board ordered for the infirmary; real, fresh, genuine port wine; only out +of the cask this forenoon; clear as a bell, and no sediment!” +</p> + +<p> +Having held the first bottle up to the light, and shaken it well to test its +excellence, Mr. Bumble placed them both on top of a chest of drawers; folded +the handkerchief in which they had been wrapped; put it carefully in his +pocket; and took up his hat, as if to go. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll have a very cold walk, Mr. Bumble,” said the matron. +</p> + +<p> +“It blows, ma’am,” replied Mr. Bumble, turning up his coat-collar, “enough to +cut one’s ears off.” +</p> + +<p> +The matron looked, from the little kettle, to the beadle, who was moving +towards the door; and as the beadle coughed, preparatory to bidding her +good-night, bashfully inquired whether—whether he wouldn’t take a cup of tea? +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble instantaneously turned back his collar again; laid his hat and stick +upon a chair; and drew another chair up to the table. As he slowly seated +himself, he looked at the lady. She fixed her eyes upon the little teapot. Mr. +Bumble coughed again, and slightly smiled. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Corney rose to get another cup and saucer from the closet. As she sat +down, her eyes once again encountered those of the gallant beadle; she +coloured, and applied herself to the task of making his tea. Again Mr. Bumble +coughed—louder this time than he had coughed yet. +</p> + +<p> +“Sweet? Mr. Bumble?” inquired the matron, taking up the sugar-basin. +</p> + +<p> +“Very sweet, indeed, ma’am,” replied Mr. Bumble. He fixed his eyes on Mrs. +Corney as he said this; and if ever a beadle looked tender, Mr. Bumble was that +beadle at that moment. +</p> + +<p> +The tea was made, and handed in silence. Mr. Bumble, having spread a +handkerchief over his knees to prevent the crumbs from sullying the splendour +of his shorts, began to eat and drink; varying these amusements, occasionally, +by fetching a deep sigh; which, however, had no injurious effect upon his +appetite, but, on the contrary, rather seemed to facilitate his operations in +the tea and toast department. +</p> + +<p> +“You have a cat, ma’am, I see,” said Mr. Bumble, glancing at one who, in the +centre of her family, was basking before the fire; “and kittens too, I +declare!” +</p> + +<p> +“I am so fond of them, Mr. Bumble, you can’t think,” replied the matron. +“They’re <i>so</i> happy, <i>so</i> frolicsome, and <i>so</i> cheerful, that +they are quite companions for me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very nice animals, ma’am,” replied Mr. Bumble, approvingly; “so very +domestic.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes!” rejoined the matron with enthusiasm; “so fond of their home too, +that it’s quite a pleasure, I’m sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Corney, ma’am,” said Mr. Bumble, slowly, and marking the time with his +teaspoon, “I mean to say this, ma’am; that any cat, or kitten, that could live +with you, ma’am, and <i>not</i> be fond of its home, must be a ass, ma’am.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mr. Bumble!” remonstrated Mrs. Corney. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s of no use disguising facts, ma’am,” said Mr. Bumble, slowly flourishing +the teaspoon with a kind of amorous dignity which made him doubly impressive; +“I would drown it myself, with pleasure.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you’re a cruel man,” said the matron vivaciously, as she held out her +hand for the beadle’s cup; “and a very hard-hearted man besides.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hard-hearted, ma’am?” said Mr. Bumble. “Hard?” Mr. Bumble resigned his cup +without another word; squeezed Mrs. Corney’s little finger as she took it; and +inflicting two open-handed slaps upon his laced waistcoat, gave a mighty sigh, +and hitched his chair a very little morsel farther from the fire. +</p> + +<p> +It was a round table; and as Mrs. Corney and Mr. Bumble had been sitting +opposite each other, with no great space between them, and fronting the fire, +it will be seen that Mr. Bumble, in receding from the fire, and still keeping +at the table, increased the distance between himself and Mrs. Corney; which +proceeding, some prudent readers will doubtless be disposed to admire, and to +consider an act of great heroism on Mr. Bumble’s part: he being in some sort +tempted by time, place, and opportunity, to give utterance to certain soft +nothings, which however well they may become the lips of the light and +thoughtless, do seem immeasurably beneath the dignity of judges of the land, +members of parliament, ministers of state, lord mayors, and other great public +functionaries, but more particularly beneath the stateliness and gravity of a +beadle: who (as is well known) should be the sternest and most inflexible among +them all. +</p> + +<p> +Whatever were Mr. Bumble’s intentions, however (and no doubt they were of the +best): it unfortunately happened, as has been twice before remarked, that the +table was a round one; consequently Mr. Bumble, moving his chair by little and +little, soon began to diminish the distance between himself and the matron; +and, continuing to travel round the outer edge of the circle, brought his +chair, in time, close to that in which the matron was seated. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed, the two chairs touched; and when they did so, Mr. Bumble stopped. +</p> + +<p> +Now, if the matron had moved her chair to the right, she would have been +scorched by the fire; and if to the left, she must have fallen into Mr. +Bumble’s arms; so (being a discreet matron, and no doubt foreseeing these +consequences at a glance) she remained where she was, and handed Mr. Bumble +another cup of tea. +</p> + +<p> +“Hard-hearted, Mrs. Corney?” said Mr. Bumble, stirring his tea, and looking up +into the matron’s face; “are <i>you</i> hard-hearted, Mrs. Corney?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear me!” exclaimed the matron, “what a very curious question from a single +man. What can you want to know for, Mr. Bumble?” +</p> + +<p> +The beadle drank his tea to the last drop; finished a piece of toast; whisked +the crumbs off his knees; wiped his lips; and deliberately kissed the matron. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Bumble!” cried that discreet lady in a whisper; for the fright was so +great, that she had quite lost her voice, “Mr. Bumble, I shall scream!” Mr. +Bumble made no reply; but in a slow and dignified manner, put his arm round the +matron’s waist. +</p> + +<p> +As the lady had stated her intention of screaming, of course she would have +screamed at this additional boldness, but that the exertion was rendered +unnecessary by a hasty knocking at the door: which was no sooner heard, than +Mr. Bumble darted, with much agility, to the wine bottles, and began dusting +them with great violence: while the matron sharply demanded who was there. +</p> + +<p> +It is worthy of remark, as a curious physical instance of the efficacy of a +sudden surprise in counteracting the effects of extreme fear, that her voice +had quite recovered all its official asperity. +</p> + +<p> +“If you please, mistress,” said a withered old female pauper, hideously ugly: +putting her head in at the door, “Old Sally is a-going fast.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what’s that to me?” angrily demanded the matron. “I can’t keep her +alive, can I?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, mistress,” replied the old woman, “nobody can; she’s far beyond the +reach of help. I’ve seen a many people die; little babes and great strong men; +and I know when death’s a-coming, well enough. But she’s troubled in her mind: +and when the fits are not on her,—and that’s not often, for she is dying very +hard,—she says she has got something to tell, which you must hear. She’ll never +die quiet till you come, mistress.” +</p> + +<p> +At this intelligence, the worthy Mrs. Corney muttered a variety of invectives +against old women who couldn’t even die without purposely annoying their +betters; and, muffling herself in a thick shawl which she hastily caught up, +briefly requested Mr. Bumble to stay till she came back, lest anything +particular should occur. Bidding the messenger walk fast, and not be all night +hobbling up the stairs, she followed her from the room with a very ill grace, +scolding all the way. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble’s conduct on being left to himself, was rather inexplicable. He +opened the closet, counted the teaspoons, weighed the sugar-tongs, closely +inspected a silver milk-pot to ascertain that it was of the genuine metal, and, +having satisfied his curiosity on these points, put on his cocked hat +corner-wise, and danced with much gravity four distinct times round the table. +</p> + +<p> +Having gone through this very extraordinary performance, he took off the cocked +hat again, and, spreading himself before the fire with his back towards it, +seemed to be mentally engaged in taking an exact inventory of the furniture. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap24"></a> CHAPTER XXIV.<br/> +TREATS ON A VERY POOR SUBJECT, BUT IS A SHORT ONE, AND MAY BE FOUND OF +IMPORTANCE IN THIS HISTORY</h2> + +<p> +It was no unfit messenger of death, who had disturbed the quiet of the matron’s +room. Her body was bent by age; her limbs trembled with palsy; her face, +distorted into a mumbling leer, resembled more the grotesque shaping of some +wild pencil, than the work of Nature’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +Alas! How few of Nature’s faces are left alone to gladden us with their beauty! +The cares, and sorrows, and hungerings, of the world, change them as they +change hearts; and it is only when those passions sleep, and have lost their +hold for ever, that the troubled clouds pass off, and leave Heaven’s surface +clear. It is a common thing for the countenances of the dead, even in that +fixed and rigid state, to subside into the long-forgotten expression of +sleeping infancy, and settle into the very look of early life; so calm, so +peaceful, do they grow again, that those who knew them in their happy +childhood, kneel by the coffin’s side in awe, and see the Angel even upon +earth. +</p> + +<p> +The old crone tottered along the passages, and up the stairs, muttering some +indistinct answers to the chidings of her companion; being at length compelled +to pause for breath, she gave the light into her hand, and remained behind to +follow as she might: while the more nimble superior made her way to the room +where the sick woman lay. +</p> + +<p> +It was a bare garret-room, with a dim light burning at the farther end. There +was another old woman watching by the bed; the parish apothecary’s apprentice +was standing by the fire, making a toothpick out of a quill. +</p> + +<p> +“Cold night, Mrs. Corney,” said this young gentleman, as the matron entered. +</p> + +<p> +“Very cold, indeed, sir,” replied the mistress, in her most civil tones, and +dropping a curtsey as she spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“You should get better coals out of your contractors,” said the apothecary’s +deputy, breaking a lump on the top of the fire with the rusty poker; “these are +not at all the sort of thing for a cold night.” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re the board’s choosing, sir,” returned the matron. “The least they could +do, would be to keep us pretty warm: for our places are hard enough.” +</p> + +<p> +The conversation was here interrupted by a moan from the sick woman. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said the young man, turning his face towards the bed, as if he had +previously quite forgotten the patient, “it’s all U.P. there, Mrs. Corney.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is, is it, sir?” asked the matron. +</p> + +<p> +“If she lasts a couple of hours, I shall be surprised,” said the apothecary’s +apprentice, intent upon the toothpick’s point. “It’s a break-up of the system +altogether. Is she dozing, old lady?” +</p> + +<p> +The attendant stooped over the bed, to ascertain; and nodded in the +affirmative. +</p> + +<p> +“Then perhaps she’ll go off in that way, if you don’t make a row,” said the +young man. “Put the light on the floor. She won’t see it there.” +</p> + +<p> +The attendant did as she was told: shaking her head meanwhile, to intimate that +the woman would not die so easily; having done so, she resumed her seat by the +side of the other nurse, who had by this time returned. The mistress, with an +expression of impatience, wrapped herself in her shawl, and sat at the foot of +the bed. +</p> + +<p> +The apothecary’s apprentice, having completed the manufacture of the toothpick, +planted himself in front of the fire and made good use of it for ten minutes or +so: when apparently growing rather dull, he wished Mrs. Corney joy of her job, +and took himself off on tiptoe. +</p> + +<p> +When they had sat in silence for some time, the two old women rose from the +bed, and crouching over the fire, held out their withered hands to catch the +heat. The flame threw a ghastly light on their shrivelled faces, and made their +ugliness appear terrible, as, in this position, they began to converse in a low +voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Did she say any more, Anny dear, while I was gone?” inquired the messenger. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a word,” replied the other. “She plucked and tore at her arms for a little +time; but I held her hands, and she soon dropped off. She hasn’t much strength +in her, so I easily kept her quiet. I ain’t so weak for an old woman, although +I am on parish allowance; no, no!” +</p> + +<p> +“Did she drink the hot wine the doctor said she was to have?” demanded the +first. +</p> + +<p> +“I tried to get it down,” rejoined the other. “But her teeth were tight set, +and she clenched the mug so hard that it was as much as I could do to get it +back again. So <i>I</i> drank it; and it did me good!” +</p> + +<p> +Looking cautiously round, to ascertain that they were not overheard, the two +hags cowered nearer to the fire, and chuckled heartily. +</p> + +<p> +“I mind the time,” said the first speaker, “when she would have done the same, +and made rare fun of it afterwards.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, that she would,” rejoined the other; “she had a merry heart. A many, many, +beautiful corpses she laid out, as nice and neat as waxwork. My old eyes have +seen them—ay, and those old hands touched them too; for I have helped her, +scores of times.” +</p> + +<p> +Stretching forth her trembling fingers as she spoke, the old creature shook +them exultingly before her face, and fumbling in her pocket, brought out an old +time-discoloured tin snuff-box, from which she shook a few grains into the +outstretched palm of her companion, and a few more into her own. While they +were thus employed, the matron, who had been impatiently watching until the +dying woman should awaken from her stupor, joined them by the fire, and sharply +asked how long she was to wait? +</p> + +<p> +“Not long, mistress,” replied the second woman, looking up into her face. “We +have none of us long to wait for Death. Patience, patience! He’ll be here soon +enough for us all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hold your tongue, you doting idiot!” said the matron sternly. “You, Martha, +tell me; has she been in this way before?” +</p> + +<p> +“Often,” answered the first woman. +</p> + +<p> +“But will never be again,” added the second one; “that is, she’ll never wake +again but once—and mind, mistress, that won’t be for long!” +</p> + +<p> +“Long or short,” said the matron, snappishly, “she won’t find me here when she +does wake; take care, both of you, how you worry me again for nothing. It’s no +part of my duty to see all the old women in the house die, and I won’t—that’s +more. Mind that, you impudent old harridans. If you make a fool of me again, +I’ll soon cure you, I warrant you!” +</p> + +<p> +She was bouncing away, when a cry from the two women, who had turned towards +the bed, caused her to look round. The patient had raised herself upright, and +was stretching her arms towards them. +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s that?” she cried, in a hollow voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush, hush!” said one of the women, stooping over her. “Lie down, lie down!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll never lie down again alive!” said the woman, struggling. “I <i>will</i> +tell her! Come here! Nearer! Let me whisper in your ear.” +</p> + +<p> +She clutched the matron by the arm, and forcing her into a chair by the +bedside, was about to speak, when looking round, she caught sight of the two +old women bending forward in the attitude of eager listeners. +</p> + +<p> +“Turn them away,” said the woman, drowsily; “make haste! make haste!” +</p> + +<p> +The two old crones, chiming in together, began pouring out many piteous +lamentations that the poor dear was too far gone to know her best friends; and +were uttering sundry protestations that they would never leave her, when the +superior pushed them from the room, closed the door, and returned to the +bedside. On being excluded, the old ladies changed their tone, and cried +through the keyhole that old Sally was drunk; which, indeed, was not unlikely; +since, in addition to a moderate dose of opium prescribed by the apothecary, +she was labouring under the effects of a final taste of gin-and-water which had +been privily administered, in the openness of their hearts, by the worthy old +ladies themselves. +</p> + +<p> +“Now listen to me,” said the dying woman aloud, as if making a great effort to +revive one latent spark of energy. “In this very room—in this very bed—I once +nursed a pretty young creetur’, that was brought into the house with her feet +cut and bruised with walking, and all soiled with dust and blood. She gave +birth to a boy, and died. Let me think—what was the year again!” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind the year,” said the impatient auditor; “what about her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” murmured the sick woman, relapsing into her former drowsy state, “what +about her?—what about—I know!” she cried, jumping fiercely up: her face +flushed, and her eyes starting from her head—“I robbed her, so I did! She +wasn’t cold—I tell you she wasn’t cold, when I stole it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Stole what, for God’s sake?” cried the matron, with a gesture as if she would +call for help. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>It!</i>” replied the woman, laying her hand over the other’s mouth. “The +only thing she had. She wanted clothes to keep her warm, and food to eat; but +she had kept it safe, and had it in her bosom. It was gold, I tell you! Rich +gold, that might have saved her life!” +</p> + +<p> +“Gold!” echoed the matron, bending eagerly over the woman as she fell back. “Go +on, go on—yes—what of it? Who was the mother? When was it?” +</p> + +<p> +“She charged me to keep it safe,” replied the woman with a groan, “and trusted +me as the only woman about her. I stole it in my heart when she first showed it +me hanging round her neck; and the child’s death, perhaps, is on me besides! +They would have treated him better, if they had known it all!” +</p> + +<p> +“Known what?” asked the other. “Speak!” +</p> + +<p> +“The boy grew so like his mother,” said the woman, rambling on, and not heeding +the question, “that I could never forget it when I saw his face. Poor girl! +poor girl! She was so young, too! Such a gentle lamb! Wait; there’s more to +tell. I have not told you all, have I?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” replied the matron, inclining her head to catch the words, as they +came more faintly from the dying woman. “Be quick, or it may be too late!” +</p> + +<p> +“The mother,” said the woman, making a more violent effort than before; “the +mother, when the pains of death first came upon her, whispered in my ear that +if her baby was born alive, and thrived, the day might come when it would not +feel so much disgraced to hear its poor young mother named. ‘And oh, kind +Heaven!’ she said, folding her thin hands together, ‘whether it be boy or girl, +raise up some friends for it in this troubled world, and take pity upon a +lonely desolate child, abandoned to its mercy!’” +</p> + +<p> +“The boy’s name?” demanded the matron. +</p> + +<p> +“They <i>called</i> him Oliver,” replied the woman, feebly. “The gold I stole +was—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes—what?” cried the other. +</p> + +<p> +She was bending eagerly over the woman to hear her reply; but drew back, +instinctively, as she once again rose, slowly and stiffly, into a sitting +posture; then, clutching the coverlid with both hands, muttered some indistinct +sounds in her throat, and fell lifeless on the bed. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +“Stone dead!” said one of the old women, hurrying in as soon as the door was +opened. +</p> + +<p> +“And nothing to tell, after all,” rejoined the matron, walking carelessly away. +</p> + +<p> +The two crones, to all appearance, too busily occupied in the preparations for +their dreadful duties to make any reply, were left alone, hovering about the +body. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap25"></a> CHAPTER XXV.<br/> +WHEREIN THIS HISTORY REVERTS TO MR. FAGIN AND COMPANY</h2> + +<p> +While these things were passing in the country workhouse, Mr. Fagin sat in the +old den—the same from which Oliver had been removed by the girl—brooding over a +dull, smoky fire. He held a pair of bellows upon his knee, with which he had +apparently been endeavouring to rouse it into more cheerful action; but he had +fallen into deep thought; and with his arms folded on them, and his chin +resting on his thumbs, fixed his eyes, abstractedly, on the rusty bars. +</p> + +<p> +At a table behind him sat the Artful Dodger, Master Charles Bates, and Mr. +Chitling: all intent upon a game of whist; the Artful taking dummy against +Master Bates and Mr. Chitling. The countenance of the first-named gentleman, +peculiarly intelligent at all times, acquired great additional interest from +his close observance of the game, and his attentive perusal of Mr. Chitling’s +hand; upon which, from time to time, as occasion served, he bestowed a variety +of earnest glances: wisely regulating his own play by the result of his +observations upon his neighbour’s cards. It being a cold night, the Dodger wore +his hat, as, indeed, was often his custom within doors. He also sustained a +clay pipe between his teeth, which he only removed for a brief space when he +deemed it necessary to apply for refreshment to a quart pot upon the table, +which stood ready filled with gin-and-water for the accommodation of the +company. +</p> + +<p> +Master Bates was also attentive to the play; but being of a more excitable +nature than his accomplished friend, it was observable that he more frequently +applied himself to the gin-and-water, and moreover indulged in many jests and +irrelevant remarks, all highly unbecoming a scientific rubber. Indeed, the +Artful, presuming upon their close attachment, more than once took occasion to +reason gravely with his companion upon these improprieties; all of which +remonstrances, Master Bates received in extremely good part; merely requesting +his friend to be “blowed,” or to insert his head in a sack, or replying with +some other neatly-turned witticism of a similar kind, the happy application of +which, excited considerable admiration in the mind of Mr. Chitling. It was +remarkable that the latter gentleman and his partner invariably lost; and that +the circumstance, so far from angering Master Bates, appeared to afford him the +highest amusement, inasmuch as he laughed most uproariously at the end of every +deal, and protested that he had never seen such a jolly game in all his born +days. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s two doubles and the rub,” said Mr. Chitling, with a very long face, as +he drew half-a-crown from his waistcoat-pocket. “I never see such a feller as +you, Jack; you win everything. Even when we’ve good cards, Charley and I can’t +make nothing of ’em.” +</p> + +<p> +Either the matter or the manner of this remark, which was made very ruefully, +delighted Charley Bates so much, that his consequent shout of laughter roused +the Jew from his reverie, and induced him to inquire what was the matter. +</p> + +<p> +“Matter, Fagin!” cried Charley. “I wish you had watched the play. Tommy +Chitling hasn’t won a point; and I went partners with him against the Artful +and dumb.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, ay!” said the Jew, with a grin, which sufficiently demonstrated that he +was at no loss to understand the reason. “Try ’em again, Tom; try ’em again.” +</p> + +<p> +“No more of it for me, thank ’ee, Fagin,” replied Mr. Chitling; “I’ve had +enough. That ’ere Dodger has such a run of luck that there’s no standing again’ +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! ha! my dear,” replied the Jew, “you must get up very early in the morning, +to win against the Dodger.” +</p> + +<p> +“Morning!” said Charley Bates; “you must put your boots on over-night, and have +a telescope at each eye, and a opera-glass between your shoulders, if you want +to come over him.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Dawkins received these handsome compliments with much philosophy, and +offered to cut any gentleman in company, for the first picture-card, at a +shilling at a time. Nobody accepting the challenge, and his pipe being by this +time smoked out, he proceeded to amuse himself by sketching a ground-plan of +Newgate on the table with the piece of chalk which had served him in lieu of +counters; whistling, meantime, with peculiar shrillness. +</p> + +<p> +“How precious dull you are, Tommy!” said the Dodger, stopping short when there +had been a long silence; and addressing Mr. Chitling. “What do you think he’s +thinking of, Fagin?” +</p> + +<p> +“How should I know, my dear?” replied the Jew, looking round as he plied the +bellows. “About his losses, maybe; or the little retirement in the country that +he’s just left, eh? Ha! ha! Is that it, my dear?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a bit of it,” replied the Dodger, stopping the subject of discourse as Mr. +Chitling was about to reply. “What do <i>you</i> say, Charley?” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I</i> should say,” replied Master Bates, with a grin, “that he was uncommon +sweet upon Betsy. See how he’s a-blushing! Oh, my eye! here’s a +merry-go-rounder! Tommy Chitling’s in love! Oh, Fagin, Fagin! what a spree!” +</p> + +<p> +Thoroughly overpowered with the notion of Mr. Chitling being the victim of the +tender passion, Master Bates threw himself back in his chair with such +violence, that he lost his balance, and pitched over upon the floor; where (the +accident abating nothing of his merriment) he lay at full length until his +laugh was over, when he resumed his former position, and began another laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind him, my dear,” said the Jew, winking at Mr. Dawkins, and giving +Master Bates a reproving tap with the nozzle of the bellows. “Betsy’s a fine +girl. Stick up to her, Tom. Stick up to her.” +</p> + +<p> +“What I mean to say, Fagin,” replied Mr. Chitling, very red in the face, “is, +that that isn’t anything to anybody here.” +</p> + +<p> +“No more it is,” replied the Jew; “Charley will talk. Don’t mind him, my dear; +don’t mind him. Betsy’s a fine girl. Do as she bids you, Tom, and you will make +your fortune.” +</p> + +<p> +“So I <i>do</i> do as she bids me,” replied Mr. Chitling; “I shouldn’t have +been milled, if it hadn’t been for her advice. But it turned out a good job for +you; didn’t it, Fagin! And what’s six weeks of it? It must come, some time or +another, and why not in the winter time when you don’t want to go out a-walking +so much; eh, Fagin?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, to be sure, my dear,” replied the Jew. +</p> + +<p> +“You wouldn’t mind it again, Tom, would you,” asked the Dodger, winking upon +Charley and the Jew, “if Bet was all right?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean to say that I shouldn’t,” replied Tom, angrily. “There, now. Ah! Who’ll +say as much as that, I should like to know; eh, Fagin?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody, my dear,” replied the Jew; “not a soul, Tom. I don’t know one of ’em +that would do it besides you; not one of ’em, my dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“I might have got clear off, if I’d split upon her; mightn’t I, Fagin?” angrily +pursued the poor half-witted dupe. “A word from me would have done it; wouldn’t +it, Fagin?” +</p> + +<p> +“To be sure it would, my dear,” replied the Jew. +</p> + +<p> +“But I didn’t blab it; did I, Fagin?” demanded Tom, pouring question upon +question with great volubility. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, to be sure,” replied the Jew; “you were too stout-hearted for that. A +deal too stout, my dear!” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps I was,” rejoined Tom, looking round; “and if I was, what’s to laugh +at, in that; eh, Fagin?” +</p> + +<p> +The Jew, perceiving that Mr. Chitling was considerably roused, hastened to +assure him that nobody was laughing; and to prove the gravity of the company, +appealed to Master Bates, the principal offender. But, unfortunately, Charley, +in opening his mouth to reply that he was never more serious in his life, was +unable to prevent the escape of such a violent roar, that the abused Mr. +Chitling, without any preliminary ceremonies, rushed across the room and aimed +a blow at the offender; who, being skilful in evading pursuit, ducked to avoid +it, and chose his time so well that it lighted on the chest of the merry old +gentleman, and caused him to stagger to the wall, where he stood panting for +breath, while Mr. Chitling looked on in intense dismay. +</p> + +<p> +“Hark!” cried the Dodger at this moment, “I heard the tinkler.” Catching up the +light, he crept softly upstairs. +</p> + +<p> +The bell was rung again, with some impatience, while the party were in +darkness. After a short pause, the Dodger reappeared, and whispered Fagin +mysteriously. +</p> + +<p> +“What!” cried the Jew, “alone?” +</p> + +<p> +The Dodger nodded in the affirmative, and, shading the flame of the candle with +his hand, gave Charley Bates a private intimation, in dumb show, that he had +better not be funny just then. Having performed this friendly office, he fixed +his eyes on the Jew’s face, and awaited his directions. +</p> + +<p> +The old man bit his yellow fingers, and meditated for some seconds; his face +working with agitation the while, as if he dreaded something, and feared to +know the worst. At length he raised his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is he?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +The Dodger pointed to the floor above, and made a gesture, as if to leave the +room. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the Jew, answering the mute inquiry; “bring him down. Hush! Quiet, +Charley! Gently, Tom! Scarce, scarce!” +</p> + +<p> +This brief direction to Charley Bates, and his recent antagonist, was softly +and immediately obeyed. There was no sound of their whereabout, when the Dodger +descended the stairs, bearing the light in his hand, and followed by a man in a +coarse smock-frock; who, after casting a hurried glance round the room, pulled +off a large wrapper which had concealed the lower portion of his face, and +disclosed: all haggard, unwashed, and unshorn: the features of flash Toby +Crackit. +</p> + +<p> +“How are you, Faguey?” said this worthy, nodding to the Jew. “Pop that shawl +away in my castor, Dodger, so that I may know where to find it when I cut; +that’s the time of day! You’ll be a fine young cracksman afore the old file +now.” +</p> + +<p> +With these words he pulled up the smock-frock; and, winding it round his +middle, drew a chair to the fire, and placed his feet upon the hob. +</p> + +<p> +“See there, Faguey,” he said, pointing disconsolately to his top boots; “not a +drop of Day and Martin since you know when; not a bubble of blacking, by Jove! +But don’t look at me in that way, man. All in good time. I can’t talk about +business till I’ve eat and drank; so produce the sustainance, and let’s have a +quiet fill-out for the first time these three days!” +</p> + +<p> +The Jew motioned to the Dodger to place what eatables there were, upon the +table; and, seating himself opposite the housebreaker, waited his leisure. +</p> + +<p> +To judge from appearances, Toby was by no means in a hurry to open the +conversation. At first, the Jew contented himself with patiently watching his +countenance, as if to gain from its expression some clue to the intelligence he +brought; but in vain. +</p> + +<p> +He looked tired and worn, but there was the same complacent repose upon his +features that they always wore: and through dirt, and beard, and whisker, there +still shone, unimpaired, the self-satisfied smirk of flash Toby Crackit. Then +the Jew, in an agony of impatience, watched every morsel he put into his mouth; +pacing up and down the room, meanwhile, in irrepressible excitement. It was all +of no use. Toby continued to eat with the utmost outward indifference, until he +could eat no more; then, ordering the Dodger out, he closed the door, mixed a +glass of spirits and water, and composed himself for talking. +</p> + +<p> +“First and foremost, Faguey,” said Toby. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes!” interposed the Jew, drawing up his chair. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Crackit stopped to take a draught of spirits and water, and to declare that +the gin was excellent; then placing his feet against the low mantelpiece, so as +to bring his boots to about the level of his eye, he quietly resumed. +</p> + +<p> +“First and foremost, Faguey,” said the housebreaker, “how’s Bill?” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” screamed the Jew, starting from his seat. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you don’t mean to say—” began Toby, turning pale. +</p> + +<p> +“Mean!” cried the Jew, stamping furiously on the ground. “Where are they? Sikes +and the boy! Where are they? Where have they been? Where are they hiding? Why +have they not been here?” +</p> + +<p> +“The crack failed,” said Toby faintly. +</p> + +<p> +“I know it,” replied the Jew, tearing a newspaper from his pocket and pointing +to it. “What more?” +</p> + +<p> +“They fired and hit the boy. We cut over the fields at the back, with him +between us—straight as the crow flies—through hedge and ditch. They gave chase. +Damme! the whole country was awake, and the dogs upon us.” +</p> + +<p> +“The boy!” +</p> + +<p> +“Bill had him on his back, and scudded like the wind. We stopped to take him +between us; his head hung down, and he was cold. They were close upon our +heels; every man for himself, and each from the gallows! We parted company, and +left the youngster lying in a ditch. Alive or dead, that’s all I know about +him.” +</p> + +<p> +The Jew stopped to hear no more; but uttering a loud yell, and twining his +hands in his hair, rushed from the room, and from the house. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap26"></a> CHAPTER XXVI.<br/> +IN WHICH A MYSTERIOUS CHARACTER APPEARS UPON THE SCENE; AND MANY THINGS, +INSEPARABLE FROM THIS HISTORY, ARE DONE AND PERFORMED</h2> + +<p> +The old man had gained the street corner, before he began to recover the effect +of Toby Crackit’s intelligence. He had relaxed nothing of his unusual speed; +but was still pressing onward, in the same wild and disordered manner, when the +sudden dashing past of a carriage: and a boisterous cry from the foot +passengers, who saw his danger: drove him back upon the pavement. Avoiding, as +much as was possible, all the main streets, and skulking only through the +by-ways and alleys, he at length emerged on Snow Hill. Here he walked even +faster than before; nor did he linger until he had again turned into a court; +when, as if conscious that he was now in his proper element, he fell into his +usual shuffling pace, and seemed to breathe more freely. +</p> + +<p> +Near to the spot on which Snow Hill and Holborn Hill meet, opens, upon the +right hand as you come out of the City, a narrow and dismal alley, leading to +Saffron Hill. In its filthy shops are exposed for sale huge bunches of +second-hand silk handkerchiefs, of all sizes and patterns; for here reside the +traders who purchase them from pick-pockets. Hundreds of these handkerchiefs +hang dangling from pegs outside the windows or flaunting from the door-posts; +and the shelves, within, are piled with them. Confined as the limits of Field +Lane are, it has its barber, its coffee-shop, its beer-shop, and its fried-fish +warehouse. It is a commercial colony of itself: the emporium of petty larceny: +visited at early morning, and setting-in of dusk, by silent merchants, who +traffic in dark back-parlours, and who go as strangely as they come. Here, the +clothesman, the shoe-vamper, and the rag-merchant, display their goods, as +sign-boards to the petty thief; here, stores of old iron and bones, and heaps +of mildewy fragments of woollen-stuff and linen, rust and rot in the grimy +cellars. +</p> + +<p> +It was into this place that the Jew turned. He was well known to the sallow +denizens of the lane; for such of them as were on the look-out to buy or sell, +nodded, familiarly, as he passed along. He replied to their salutations in the +same way; but bestowed no closer recognition until he reached the further end +of the alley; when he stopped, to address a salesman of small stature, who had +squeezed as much of his person into a child’s chair as the chair would hold, +and was smoking a pipe at his warehouse door. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, the sight of you, Mr. Fagin, would cure the hoptalmy!” said this +respectable trader, in acknowledgment of the Jew’s inquiry after his health. +</p> + +<p> +“The neighbourhood was a little too hot, Lively,” said Fagin, elevating his +eyebrows, and crossing his hands upon his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ve heerd that complaint of it, once or twice before,” replied the +trader; “but it soon cools down again; don’t you find it so?” +</p> + +<p> +Fagin nodded in the affirmative. Pointing in the direction of Saffron Hill, he +inquired whether any one was up yonder tonight. +</p> + +<p> +“At the Cripples?” inquired the man. +</p> + +<p> +The Jew nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me see,” pursued the merchant, reflecting. “Yes, there’s some half-dozen +of ’em gone in, that I knows. I don’t think your friend’s there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sikes is not, I suppose?” inquired the Jew, with a disappointed countenance. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Non istwentus</i>, as the lawyers say,” replied the little man, shaking his +head, and looking amazingly sly. “Have you got anything in my line tonight?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing tonight,” said the Jew, turning away. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going up to the Cripples, Fagin?” cried the little man, calling after +him. “Stop! I don’t mind if I have a drop there with you!” +</p> + +<p> +But as the Jew, looking back, waved his hand to intimate that he preferred +being alone; and, moreover, as the little man could not very easily disengage +himself from the chair; the sign of the Cripples was, for a time, bereft of the +advantage of Mr. Lively’s presence. By the time he had got upon his legs, the +Jew had disappeared; so Mr. Lively, after ineffectually standing on tiptoe, in +the hope of catching sight of him, again forced himself into the little chair, +and, exchanging a shake of the head with a lady in the opposite shop, in which +doubt and mistrust were plainly mingled, resumed his pipe with a grave +demeanour. +</p> + +<p> +The Three Cripples, or rather the Cripples; which was the sign by which the +establishment was familiarly known to its patrons: was the public-house in +which Mr. Sikes and his dog have already figured. Merely making a sign to a man +at the bar, Fagin walked straight upstairs, and opening the door of a room, and +softly insinuating himself into the chamber, looked anxiously about: shading +his eyes with his hand, as if in search of some particular person. +</p> + +<p> +The room was illuminated by two gas-lights; the glare of which was prevented by +the barred shutters, and closely-drawn curtains of faded red, from being +visible outside. The ceiling was blackened, to prevent its colour from being +injured by the flaring of the lamps; and the place was so full of dense tobacco +smoke, that at first it was scarcely possible to discern anything more. By +degrees, however, as some of it cleared away through the open door, an +assemblage of heads, as confused as the noises that greeted the ear, might be +made out; and as the eye grew more accustomed to the scene, the spectator +gradually became aware of the presence of a numerous company, male and female, +crowded round a long table: at the upper end of which, sat a chairman with a +hammer of office in his hand; while a professional gentleman with a bluish +nose, and his face tied up for the benefit of a toothache, presided at a +jingling piano in a remote corner. +</p> + +<p> +As Fagin stepped softly in, the professional gentleman, running over the keys +by way of prelude, occasioned a general cry of order for a song; which having +subsided, a young lady proceeded to entertain the company with a ballad in four +verses, between each of which the accompanyist played the melody all through, +as loud as he could. When this was over, the chairman gave a sentiment, after +which, the professional gentleman on the chairman’s right and left volunteered +a duet, and sang it, with great applause. +</p> + +<p> +It was curious to observe some faces which stood out prominently from among the +group. There was the chairman himself, (the landlord of the house,) a coarse, +rough, heavy built fellow, who, while the songs were proceeding, rolled his +eyes hither and thither, and, seeming to give himself up to joviality, had an +eye for everything that was done, and an ear for everything that was said—and +sharp ones, too. Near him were the singers: receiving, with professional +indifference, the compliments of the company, and applying themselves, in turn, +to a dozen proffered glasses of spirits and water, tendered by their more +boisterous admirers; whose countenances, expressive of almost every vice in +almost every grade, irresistibly attracted the attention, by their very +repulsiveness. Cunning, ferocity, and drunkeness in all its stages, were there, +in their strongest aspect; and women: some with the last lingering tinge of +their early freshness almost fading as you looked: others with every mark and +stamp of their sex utterly beaten out, and presenting but one loathsome blank +of profligacy and crime; some mere girls, others but young women, and none past +the prime of life; formed the darkest and saddest portion of this dreary +picture. +</p> + +<p> +Fagin, troubled by no grave emotions, looked eagerly from face to face while +these proceedings were in progress; but apparently without meeting that of +which he was in search. Succeeding, at length, in catching the eye of the man +who occupied the chair, he beckoned to him slightly, and left the room, as +quietly as he had entered it. +</p> + +<p> +“What can I do for you, Mr. Fagin?” inquired the man, as he followed him out to +the landing. “Won’t you join us? They’ll be delighted, every one of ’em.” +</p> + +<p> +The Jew shook his head impatiently, and said in a whisper, “Is <i>he</i> here?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied the man. +</p> + +<p> +“And no news of Barney?” inquired Fagin. +</p> + +<p> +“None,” replied the landlord of the Cripples; for it was he. “He won’t stir +till it’s all safe. Depend on it, they’re on the scent down there; and that if +he moved, he’d blow upon the thing at once. He’s all right enough, Barney is, +else I should have heard of him. I’ll pound it, that Barney’s managing +properly. Let him alone for that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will <i>he</i> be here tonight?” asked the Jew, laying the same emphasis on +the pronoun as before. +</p> + +<p> +“Monks, do you mean?” inquired the landlord, hesitating. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush!” said the Jew. “Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certain,” replied the man, drawing a gold watch from his fob; “I expected him +here before now. If you’ll wait ten minutes, he’ll be—” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” said the Jew, hastily; as though, however desirous he might be to see +the person in question, he was nevertheless relieved by his absence. “Tell him +I came here to see him; and that he must come to me tonight. No, say +tomorrow. As he is not here, tomorrow will be time enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” said the man. “Nothing more?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a word now,” said the Jew, descending the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +“I say,” said the other, looking over the rails, and speaking in a hoarse +whisper; “what a time this would be for a sell! I’ve got Phil Barker here: so +drunk, that a boy might take him!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! But it’s not Phil Barker’s time,” said the Jew, looking up. “Phil has +something more to do, before we can afford to part with him; so go back to the +company, my dear, and tell them to lead merry lives—<i>while they last</i>. Ha! +ha! ha!” +</p> + +<p> +The landlord reciprocated the old man’s laugh; and returned to his guests. The +Jew was no sooner alone, than his countenance resumed its former expression of +anxiety and thought. After a brief reflection, he called a hack-cabriolet, and +bade the man drive towards Bethnal Green. He dismissed him within some quarter +of a mile of Mr. Sikes’s residence, and performed the short remainder of the +distance on foot. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” muttered the Jew, as he knocked at the door, “if there is any deep play +here, I shall have it out of you, my girl, cunning as you are.” +</p> + +<p> +She was in her room, the woman said. Fagin crept softly upstairs, and entered +it without any previous ceremony. The girl was alone; lying with her head upon +the table, and her hair straggling over it. +</p> + +<p> +“She has been drinking,” thought the Jew, cooly, “or perhaps she is only +miserable.” +</p> + +<p> +The old man turned to close the door, as he made this reflection; the noise +thus occasioned, roused the girl. She eyed his crafty face narrowly, as she +inquired to his recital of Toby Crackit’s story. When it was concluded, she +sank into her former attitude, but spoke not a word. She pushed the candle +impatiently away; and once or twice as she feverishly changed her position, +shuffled her feet upon the ground; but this was all. +</p> + +<p> +During the silence, the Jew looked restlessly about the room, as if to assure +himself that there were no appearances of Sikes having covertly returned. +Apparently satisfied with his inspection, he coughed twice or thrice, and made +as many efforts to open a conversation; but the girl heeded him no more than if +he had been made of stone. At length he made another attempt; and rubbing his +hands together, said, in his most conciliatory tone, +</p> + +<p> +“And where should you think Bill was now, my dear?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl moaned out some half intelligible reply, that she could not tell; and +seemed, from the smothered noise that escaped her, to be crying. +</p> + +<p> +“And the boy, too,” said the Jew, straining his eyes to catch a glimpse of her +face. “Poor leetle child! Left in a ditch, Nance; only think!” +</p> + +<p> +“The child,” said the girl, suddenly looking up, “is better where he is, than +among us; and if no harm comes to Bill from it, I hope he lies dead in the +ditch and that his young bones may rot there.” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” cried the Jew, in amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, I do,” returned the girl, meeting his gaze. “I shall be glad to have him +away from my eyes, and to know that the worst is over. I can’t bear to have him +about me. The sight of him turns me against myself, and all of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pooh!” said the Jew, scornfully. “You’re drunk.” +</p> + +<p> +“Am I?” cried the girl bitterly. “It’s no fault of yours, if I am not! You’d +never have me anything else, if you had your will, except now;—the humour +doesn’t suit you, doesn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” rejoined the Jew, furiously. “It does not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Change it, then!” responded the girl, with a laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Change it!” exclaimed the Jew, exasperated beyond all bounds by his +companion’s unexpected obstinacy, and the vexation of the night, “I <i>will</i> +change it! Listen to me, you drab. Listen to me, who with six words, can +strangle Sikes as surely as if I had his bull’s throat between my fingers now. +If he comes back, and leaves the boy behind him; if he gets off free, and dead +or alive, fails to restore him to me; murder him yourself if you would have him +escape Jack Ketch. And do it the moment he sets foot in this room, or mind me, +it will be too late!” +</p> + +<p> +“What is all this?” cried the girl involuntarily. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” pursued Fagin, mad with rage. “When the boy’s worth hundreds of +pounds to me, am I to lose what chance threw me in the way of getting safely, +through the whims of a drunken gang that I could whistle away the lives of! And +me bound, too, to a born devil that only wants the will, and has the power to, +to—” +</p> + +<p> +Panting for breath, the old man stammered for a word; and in that instant +checked the torrent of his wrath, and changed his whole demeanour. A moment +before, his clenched hands had grasped the air; his eyes had dilated; and his +face grown livid with passion; but now, he shrunk into a chair, and, cowering +together, trembled with the apprehension of having himself disclosed some +hidden villainy. After a short silence, he ventured to look round at his +companion. He appeared somewhat reassured, on beholding her in the same +listless attitude from which he had first roused her. +</p> + +<p> +“Nancy, dear!” croaked the Jew, in his usual voice. “Did you mind me, dear?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t worry me now, Fagin!” replied the girl, raising her head languidly. “If +Bill has not done it this time, he will another. He has done many a good job +for you, and will do many more when he can; and when he can’t he won’t; so no +more about that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Regarding this boy, my dear?” said the Jew, rubbing the palms of his hands +nervously together. +</p> + +<p> +“The boy must take his chance with the rest,” interrupted Nancy, hastily; “and +I say again, I hope he is dead, and out of harm’s way, and out of yours,—that +is, if Bill comes to no harm. And if Toby got clear off, Bill’s pretty sure to +be safe; for Bill’s worth two of Toby any time.” +</p> + +<p> +“And about what I was saying, my dear?” observed the Jew, keeping his +glistening eye steadily upon her. +</p> + +<p> +“You must say it all over again, if it’s anything you want me to do,” rejoined +Nancy; “and if it is, you had better wait till tomorrow. You put me up for a +minute; but now I’m stupid again.” +</p> + +<p> +Fagin put several other questions: all with the same drift of ascertaining +whether the girl had profited by his unguarded hints; but, she answered them so +readily, and was withal so utterly unmoved by his searching looks, that his +original impression of her being more than a trifle in liquor, was confirmed. +Nancy, indeed, was not exempt from a failing which was very common among the +Jew’s female pupils; and in which, in their tenderer years, they were rather +encouraged than checked. Her disordered appearance, and a wholesale perfume of +Geneva which pervaded the apartment, afforded strong confirmatory evidence of +the justice of the Jew’s supposition; and when, after indulging in the +temporary display of violence above described, she subsided, first into +dullness, and afterwards into a compound of feelings: under the influence of +which she shed tears one minute, and in the next gave utterance to various +exclamations of “Never say die!” and divers calculations as to what might be +the amount of the odds so long as a lady or gentleman was happy, Mr. Fagin, who +had had considerable experience of such matters in his time, saw, with great +satisfaction, that she was very far gone indeed. +</p> + +<p> +Having eased his mind by this discovery; and having accomplished his twofold +object of imparting to the girl what he had, that night, heard, and of +ascertaining, with his own eyes, that Sikes had not returned, Mr. Fagin again +turned his face homeward: leaving his young friend asleep, with her head upon +the table. +</p> + +<p> +It was within an hour of midnight. The weather being dark, and piercing cold, +he had no great temptation to loiter. The sharp wind that scoured the streets, +seemed to have cleared them of passengers, as of dust and mud, for few people +were abroad, and they were to all appearance hastening fast home. It blew from +the right quarter for the Jew, however, and straight before it he went: +trembling, and shivering, as every fresh gust drove him rudely on his way. +</p> + +<p> +He had reached the corner of his own street, and was already fumbling in his +pocket for the door-key, when a dark figure emerged from a projecting entrance +which lay in deep shadow, and, crossing the road, glided up to him unperceived. +</p> + +<p> +“Fagin!” whispered a voice close to his ear. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said the Jew, turning quickly round, “is that—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes!” interrupted the stranger. “I have been lingering here these two hours. +Where the devil have you been?” +</p> + +<p> +“On your business, my dear,” replied the Jew, glancing uneasily at his +companion, and slackening his pace as he spoke. “On your business all night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, of course!” said the stranger, with a sneer. “Well; and what’s come of +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing good,” said the Jew. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing bad, I hope?” said the stranger, stopping short, and turning a +startled look on his companion. +</p> + +<p> +The Jew shook his head, and was about to reply, when the stranger, interrupting +him, motioned to the house, before which they had by this time arrived: +remarking, that he had better say what he had got to say, under cover: for his +blood was chilled with standing about so long, and the wind blew through him. +</p> + +<p> +Fagin looked as if he could have willingly excused himself from taking home a +visitor at that unseasonable hour; and, indeed, muttered something about having +no fire; but his companion repeating his request in a peremptory manner, he +unlocked the door, and requested him to close it softly, while he got a light. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s as dark as the grave,” said the man, groping forward a few steps. “Make +haste!” +</p> + +<p> +“Shut the door,” whispered Fagin from the end of the passage. As he spoke, it +closed with a loud noise. +</p> + +<p> +“That wasn’t my doing,” said the other man, feeling his way. “The wind blew it +to, or it shut of its own accord: one or the other. Look sharp with the light, +or I shall knock my brains out against something in this confounded hole.” +</p> + +<p> +Fagin stealthily descended the kitchen stairs. After a short absence, he +returned with a lighted candle, and the intelligence that Toby Crackit was +asleep in the back room below, and that the boys were in the front one. +Beckoning the man to follow him, he led the way upstairs. +</p> + +<p> +“We can say the few words we’ve got to say in here, my dear,” said the Jew, +throwing open a door on the first floor; “and as there are holes in the +shutters, and we never show lights to our neighbours, we’ll set the candle on +the stairs. There!” +</p> + +<p> +With those words, the Jew, stooping down, placed the candle on an upper flight +of stairs, exactly opposite to the room door. This done, he led the way into +the apartment; which was destitute of all movables save a broken arm-chair, and +an old couch or sofa without covering, which stood behind the door. Upon this +piece of furniture, the stranger sat himself with the air of a weary man; and +the Jew, drawing up the arm-chair opposite, they sat face to face. It was not +quite dark; the door was partially open; and the candle outside, threw a feeble +reflection on the opposite wall. +</p> + +<p> +They conversed for some time in whispers. Though nothing of the conversation +was distinguishable beyond a few disjointed words here and there, a listener +might easily have perceived that Fagin appeared to be defending himself against +some remarks of the stranger; and that the latter was in a state of +considerable irritation. They might have been talking, thus, for a quarter of +an hour or more, when Monks—by which name the Jew had designated the strange +man several times in the course of their colloquy—said, raising his voice a +little, +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you again, it was badly planned. Why not have kept him here among the +rest, and made a sneaking, snivelling pickpocket of him at once?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only hear him!” exclaimed the Jew, shrugging his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, do you mean to say you couldn’t have done it, if you had chosen?” +demanded Monks, sternly. “Haven’t you done it, with other boys, scores of +times? If you had had patience for a twelvemonth, at most, couldn’t you have +got him convicted, and sent safely out of the kingdom; perhaps for life?” +</p> + +<p> +“Whose turn would that have served, my dear?” inquired the Jew humbly. +</p> + +<p> +“Mine,” replied Monks. +</p> + +<p> +“But not mine,” said the Jew, submissively. “He might have become of use to me. +When there are two parties to a bargain, it is only reasonable that the +interests of both should be consulted; is it, my good friend?” +</p> + +<p> +“What then?” demanded Monks. +</p> + +<p> +“I saw it was not easy to train him to the business,” replied the Jew; “he was +not like other boys in the same circumstances.” +</p> + +<p> +“Curse him, no!” muttered the man, “or he would have been a thief, long ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“I had no hold upon him to make him worse,” pursued the Jew, anxiously watching +the countenance of his companion. “His hand was not in. I had nothing to +frighten him with; which we always must have in the beginning, or we labour in +vain. What could I do? Send him out with the Dodger and Charley? We had enough +of that, at first, my dear; I trembled for us all.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>That</i> was not my doing,” observed Monks. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, my dear!” renewed the Jew. “And I don’t quarrel with it now; because, +if it had never happened, you might never have clapped eyes on the boy to +notice him, and so led to the discovery that it was him you were looking for. +Well! I got him back for you by means of the girl; and then <i>she</i> begins +to favour him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Throttle the girl!” said Monks, impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, we can’t afford to do that just now, my dear,” replied the Jew, smiling; +“and, besides, that sort of thing is not in our way; or, one of these days, I +might be glad to have it done. I know what these girls are, Monks, well. As +soon as the boy begins to harden, she’ll care no more for him, than for a block +of wood. You want him made a thief. If he is alive, I can make him one from +this time; and, if—if—” said the Jew, drawing nearer to the other,—“it’s not +likely, mind,—but if the worst comes to the worst, and he is dead—” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s no fault of mine if he is!” interposed the other man, with a look of +terror, and clasping the Jew’s arm with trembling hands. “Mind that. Fagin! I +had no hand in it. Anything but his death, I told you from the first. I won’t +shed blood; it’s always found out, and haunts a man besides. If they shot him +dead, I was not the cause; do you hear me? Fire this infernal den! What’s +that?” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” cried the Jew, grasping the coward round the body, with both arms, as +he sprung to his feet. “Where?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yonder!” replied the man, glaring at the opposite wall. “The shadow! I saw the +shadow of a woman, in a cloak and bonnet, pass along the wainscot like a +breath!” +</p> + +<p> +The Jew released his hold, and they rushed tumultuously from the room. The +candle, wasted by the draught, was standing where it had been placed. It showed +them only the empty staircase, and their own white faces. They listened +intently: a profound silence reigned throughout the house. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s your fancy,” said the Jew, taking up the light and turning to his +companion. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll swear I saw it!” replied Monks, trembling. “It was bending forward when I +saw it first; and when I spoke, it darted away.” +</p> + +<p> +The Jew glanced contemptuously at the pale face of his associate, and, telling +him he could follow, if he pleased, ascended the stairs. They looked into all +the rooms; they were cold, bare, and empty. They descended into the passage, +and thence into the cellars below. The green damp hung upon the low walls; the +tracks of the snail and slug glistened in the light of the candle; but all was +still as death. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you think now?” said the Jew, when they had regained the passage. +“Besides ourselves, there’s not a creature in the house except Toby and the +boys; and they’re safe enough. See here!” +</p> + +<p> +As a proof of the fact, the Jew drew forth two keys from his pocket; and +explained, that when he first went downstairs, he had locked them in, to +prevent any intrusion on the conference. +</p> + +<p> +This accumulated testimony effectually staggered Mr. Monks. His protestations +had gradually become less and less vehement as they proceeded in their search +without making any discovery; and, now, he gave vent to several very grim +laughs, and confessed it could only have been his excited imagination. He +declined any renewal of the conversation, however, for that night: suddenly +remembering that it was past one o’clock. And so the amiable couple parted. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap27"></a> CHAPTER XXVII.<br/> +ATONES FOR THE UNPOLITENESS OF A FORMER CHAPTER; WHICH DESERTED A LADY, MOST +UNCEREMONIOUSLY</h2> + +<p> +As it would be, by no means, seemly in a humble author to keep so mighty a +personage as a beadle waiting, with his back to the fire, and the skirts of his +coat gathered up under his arms, until such time as it might suit his pleasure +to relieve him; and as it would still less become his station, or his gallantry +to involve in the same neglect a lady on whom that beadle had looked with an +eye of tenderness and affection, and in whose ear he had whispered sweet words, +which, coming from such a quarter, might well thrill the bosom of maid or +matron of whatsoever degree; the historian whose pen traces these +words—trusting that he knows his place, and that he entertains a becoming +reverence for those upon earth to whom high and important authority is +delegated—hastens to pay them that respect which their position demands, and to +treat them with all that duteous ceremony which their exalted rank, and (by +consequence) great virtues, imperatively claim at his hands. Towards this end, +indeed, he had purposed to introduce, in this place, a dissertation touching +the divine right of beadles, and elucidative of the position, that a beadle can +do no wrong: which could not fail to have been both pleasurable and profitable +to the right-minded reader but which he is unfortunately compelled, by want of +time and space, to postpone to some more convenient and fitting opportunity; on +the arrival of which, he will be prepared to show, that a beadle properly +constituted: that is to say, a parochial beadle, attached to a parochial +workhouse, and attending in his official capacity the parochial church: is, in +right and virtue of his office, possessed of all the excellences and best +qualities of humanity; and that to none of those excellences, can mere +companies’ beadles, or court-of-law beadles, or even chapel-of-ease beadles +(save the last, and they in a very lowly and inferior degree), lay the remotest +sustainable claim. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble had re-counted the teaspoons, re-weighed the sugar-tongs, made a +closer inspection of the milk-pot, and ascertained to a nicety the exact +condition of the furniture, down to the very horse-hair seats of the chairs; +and had repeated each process full half a dozen times; before he began to think +that it was time for Mrs. Corney to return. Thinking begets thinking; as there +were no sounds of Mrs. Corney’s approach, it occured to Mr. Bumble that it +would be an innocent and virtuous way of spending the time, if he were further +to allay his curiousity by a cursory glance at the interior of Mrs. Corney’s +chest of drawers. +</p> + +<p> +Having listened at the keyhole, to assure himself that nobody was approaching +the chamber, Mr. Bumble, beginning at the bottom, proceeded to make himself +acquainted with the contents of the three long drawers: which, being filled +with various garments of good fashion and texture, carefully preserved between +two layers of old newspapers, speckled with dried lavender: seemed to yield him +exceeding satisfaction. Arriving, in course of time, at the right-hand corner +drawer (in which was the key), and beholding therein a small padlocked box, +which, being shaken, gave forth a pleasant sound, as of the chinking of coin, +Mr. Bumble returned with a stately walk to the fireplace; and, resuming his old +attitude, said, with a grave and determined air, “I’ll do it!” He followed up +this remarkable declaration, by shaking his head in a waggish manner for ten +minutes, as though he were remonstrating with himself for being such a pleasant +dog; and then, he took a view of his legs in profile, with much seeming +pleasure and interest. +</p> + +<p> +He was still placidly engaged in this latter survey, when Mrs. Corney, hurrying +into the room, threw herself, in a breathless state, on a chair by the +fireside, and covering her eyes with one hand, placed the other over her heart, +and gasped for breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Corney,” said Mr. Bumble, stooping over the matron, “what is this, ma’am? +Has anything happened, ma’am? Pray answer me: I’m on—on—” Mr. Bumble, in his +alarm, could not immediately think of the word “tenterhooks,” so he said +“broken bottles.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mr. Bumble!” cried the lady, “I have been so dreadfully put out!” +</p> + +<p> +“Put out, ma’am!” exclaimed Mr. Bumble; “who has dared to—? I know!” said Mr. +Bumble, checking himself, with native majesty, “this is them wicious paupers!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s dreadful to think of!” said the lady, shuddering. +</p> + +<p> +“Then <i>don’t</i> think of it, ma’am,” rejoined Mr. Bumble. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t help it,” whimpered the lady. +</p> + +<p> +“Then take something, ma’am,” said Mr. Bumble soothingly. “A little of the +wine?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not for the world!” replied Mrs. Corney. “I couldn’t,—oh! The top shelf in the +right-hand corner—oh!” Uttering these words, the good lady pointed, +distractedly, to the cupboard, and underwent a convulsion from internal spasms. +Mr. Bumble rushed to the closet; and, snatching a pint green-glass bottle from +the shelf thus incoherently indicated, filled a tea-cup with its contents, and +held it to the lady’s lips. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m better now,” said Mrs. Corney, falling back, after drinking half of it. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble raised his eyes piously to the ceiling in thankfulness; and, +bringing them down again to the brim of the cup, lifted it to his nose. +</p> + +<p> +“Peppermint,” exclaimed Mrs. Corney, in a faint voice, smiling gently on the +beadle as she spoke. “Try it! There’s a little—a little something else in it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble tasted the medicine with a doubtful look; smacked his lips; took +another taste; and put the cup down empty. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s very comforting,” said Mrs. Corney. +</p> + +<p> +“Very much so indeed, ma’am,” said the beadle. As he spoke, he drew a chair +beside the matron, and tenderly inquired what had happened to distress her. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” replied Mrs. Corney. “I am a foolish, excitable, weak creetur.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not weak, ma’am,” retorted Mr. Bumble, drawing his chair a little closer. “Are +you a weak creetur, Mrs. Corney?” +</p> + +<p> +“We are all weak creeturs,” said Mrs. Corney, laying down a general principle. +</p> + +<p> +“So we are,” said the beadle. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing was said on either side, for a minute or two afterwards. By the +expiration of that time, Mr. Bumble had illustrated the position by removing +his left arm from the back of Mrs. Corney’s chair, where it had previously +rested, to Mrs. Corney’s apron-string, round which it gradually became +entwined. +</p> + +<p> +“We are all weak creeturs,” said Mr. Bumble. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Corney sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t sigh, Mrs. Corney,” said Mr. Bumble. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t help it,” said Mrs. Corney. And she sighed again. +</p> + +<p> +“This is a very comfortable room, ma’am,” said Mr. Bumble looking round. +“Another room, and this, ma’am, would be a complete thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“It would be too much for one,” murmured the lady. +</p> + +<p> +“But not for two, ma’am,” rejoined Mr. Bumble, in soft accents. “Eh, Mrs. +Corney?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Corney drooped her head, when the beadle said this; the beadle drooped +his, to get a view of Mrs. Corney’s face. Mrs. Corney, with great propriety, +turned her head away, and released her hand to get at her pocket-handkerchief; +but insensibly replaced it in that of Mr. Bumble. +</p> + +<p> +“The board allows you coals, don’t they, Mrs. Corney?” inquired the beadle, +affectionately pressing her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“And candles,” replied Mrs. Corney, slightly returning the pressure. +</p> + +<p> +“Coals, candles, and house-rent free,” said Mr. Bumble. “Oh, Mrs. Corney, what +an Angel you are!” +</p> + +<p> +The lady was not proof against this burst of feeling. She sank into Mr. +Bumble’s arms; and that gentleman in his agitation, imprinted a passionate kiss +upon her chaste nose. +</p> + +<p> +“Such porochial perfection!” exclaimed Mr. Bumble, rapturously. “You know that +Mr. Slout is worse tonight, my fascinator?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied Mrs. Corney, bashfully. +</p> + +<p> +“He can’t live a week, the doctor says,” pursued Mr. Bumble. “He is the master +of this establishment; his death will cause a wacancy; that wacancy must be +filled up. Oh, Mrs. Corney, what a prospect this opens! What a opportunity for +a jining of hearts and housekeepings!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Corney sobbed. +</p> + +<p> +“The little word?” said Mr. Bumble, bending over the bashful beauty. “The one +little, little, little word, my blessed Corney?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ye—ye—yes!” sighed out the matron. +</p> + +<p> +“One more,” pursued the beadle; “compose your darling feelings for only one +more. When is it to come off?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Corney twice essayed to speak: and twice failed. At length summoning up +courage, she threw her arms around Mr. Bumble’s neck, and said, it might be as +soon as ever he pleased, and that he was “a irresistible duck.” +</p> + +<p> +Matters being thus amicably and satisfactorily arranged, the contract was +solemnly ratified in another teacupful of the peppermint mixture; which was +rendered the more necessary, by the flutter and agitation of the lady’s +spirits. While it was being disposed of, she acquainted Mr. Bumble with the old +woman’s decease. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good,” said that gentleman, sipping his peppermint; “I’ll call at +Sowerberry’s as I go home, and tell him to send tomorrow morning. Was it that +as frightened you, love?” +</p> + +<p> +“It wasn’t anything particular, dear,” said the lady evasively. +</p> + +<p> +“It must have been something, love,” urged Mr. Bumble. “Won’t you tell your own +B.?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not now,” rejoined the lady; “one of these days. After we’re married, dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“After we’re married!” exclaimed Mr. Bumble. “It wasn’t any impudence from any +of them male paupers as—” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, love!” interposed the lady, hastily. +</p> + +<p> +“If I thought it was,” continued Mr. Bumble; “if I thought as any one of ’em +had dared to lift his wulgar eyes to that lovely countenance—” +</p> + +<p> +“They wouldn’t have dared to do it, love,” responded the lady. +</p> + +<p> +“They had better not!” said Mr. Bumble, clenching his fist. “Let me see any +man, porochial or extra-porochial, as would presume to do it; and I can tell +him that he wouldn’t do it a second time!” +</p> + +<p> +Unembellished by any violence of gesticulation, this might have seemed no very +high compliment to the lady’s charms; but, as Mr. Bumble accompanied the threat +with many warlike gestures, she was much touched with this proof of his +devotion, and protested, with great admiration, that he was indeed a dove. +</p> + +<p> +The dove then turned up his coat-collar, and put on his cocked hat; and, having +exchanged a long and affectionate embrace with his future partner, once again +braved the cold wind of the night: merely pausing, for a few minutes, in the +male paupers’ ward, to abuse them a little, with the view of satisfying himself +that he could fill the office of workhouse-master with needful acerbity. +Assured of his qualifications, Mr. Bumble left the building with a light heart, +and bright visions of his future promotion: which served to occupy his mind +until he reached the shop of the undertaker. +</p> + +<p> +Now, Mr. and Mrs. Sowerberry having gone out to tea and supper: and Noah +Claypole not being at any time disposed to take upon himself a greater amount +of physical exertion than is necessary to a convenient performance of the two +functions of eating and drinking, the shop was not closed, although it was past +the usual hour of shutting-up. Mr. Bumble tapped with his cane on the counter +several times; but, attracting no attention, and beholding a light shining +through the glass-window of the little parlour at the back of the shop, he made +bold to peep in and see what was going forward; and when he saw what was going +forward, he was not a little surprised. +</p> + +<p> +The cloth was laid for supper; the table was covered with bread and butter, +plates and glasses; a porter-pot and a wine-bottle. At the upper end of the +table, Mr. Noah Claypole lolled negligently in an easy-chair, with his legs +thrown over one of the arms: an open clasp-knife in one hand, and a mass of +buttered bread in the other. Close beside him stood Charlotte, opening oysters +from a barrel: which Mr. Claypole condescended to swallow, with remarkable +avidity. A more than ordinary redness in the region of the young gentleman’s +nose, and a kind of fixed wink in his right eye, denoted that he was in a +slight degree intoxicated; these symptoms were confirmed by the intense relish +with which he took his oysters, for which nothing but a strong appreciation of +their cooling properties, in cases of internal fever, could have sufficiently +accounted. +</p> + +<p> +“Here’s a delicious fat one, Noah, dear!” said Charlotte; “try him, do; only +this one.” +</p> + +<p> +“What a delicious thing is a oyster!” remarked Mr. Claypole, after he had +swallowed it. “What a pity it is, a number of ’em should ever make you feel +uncomfortable; isn’t it, Charlotte?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s quite a cruelty,” said Charlotte. +</p> + +<p> +“So it is,” acquiesced Mr. Claypole. “An’t yer fond of oysters?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not overmuch,” replied Charlotte. “I like to see you eat ’em, Noah dear, +better than eating ’em myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lor!” said Noah, reflectively; “how queer!” +</p> + +<p> +“Have another,” said Charlotte. “Here’s one with such a beautiful, delicate +beard!” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t manage any more,” said Noah. “I’m very sorry. Come here, Charlotte, +and I’ll kiss yer.” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” said Mr. Bumble, bursting into the room. “Say that again, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Charlotte uttered a scream, and hid her face in her apron. Mr. Claypole, +without making any further change in his position than suffering his legs to +reach the ground, gazed at the beadle in drunken terror. +</p> + +<p> +“Say it again, you wile, owdacious fellow!” said Mr. Bumble. “How dare you +mention such a thing, sir? And how dare you encourage him, you insolent minx? +Kiss her!” exclaimed Mr. Bumble, in strong indignation. “Faugh!” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t mean to do it!” said Noah, blubbering. “She’s always a-kissing of me, +whether I like it, or not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Noah,” cried Charlotte, reproachfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Yer are; yer know yer are!” retorted Noah. “She’s always a-doin’ of it, Mr. +Bumble, sir; she chucks me under the chin, please, sir; and makes all manner of +love!” +</p> + +<p> +“Silence!” cried Mr. Bumble, sternly. “Take yourself downstairs, ma’am. Noah, +you shut up the shop; say another word till your master comes home, at your +peril; and, when he does come home, tell him that Mr. Bumble said he was to +send a old woman’s shell after breakfast tomorrow morning. Do you hear sir? +Kissing!” cried Mr. Bumble, holding up his hands. “The sin and wickedness of +the lower orders in this porochial district is frightful! If Parliament don’t +take their abominable courses under consideration, this country’s ruined, and +the character of the peasantry gone for ever!” With these words, the beadle +strode, with a lofty and gloomy air, from the undertaker’s premises. +</p> + +<p> +And now that we have accompanied him so far on his road home, and have made all +necessary preparations for the old woman’s funeral, let us set on foot a few +inquires after young Oliver Twist, and ascertain whether he be still lying in +the ditch where Toby Crackit left him. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap28"></a> CHAPTER XXVIII.<br/> +LOOKS AFTER OLIVER, AND PROCEEDS WITH HIS ADVENTURES</h2> + +<p> +“Wolves tear your throats!” muttered Sikes, grinding his teeth. “I wish I was +among some of you; you’d howl the hoarser for it.” +</p> + +<p> +As Sikes growled forth this imprecation, with the most desperate ferocity that +his desperate nature was capable of, he rested the body of the wounded boy +across his bended knee; and turned his head, for an instant, to look back at +his pursuers. +</p> + +<p> +There was little to be made out, in the mist and darkness; but the loud +shouting of men vibrated through the air, and the barking of the neighbouring +dogs, roused by the sound of the alarm bell, resounded in every direction. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop, you white-livered hound!” cried the robber, shouting after Toby Crackit, +who, making the best use of his long legs, was already ahead. “Stop!” +</p> + +<p> +The repetition of the word, brought Toby to a dead stand-still. For he was not +quite satisfied that he was beyond the range of pistol-shot; and Sikes was in +no mood to be played with. +</p> + +<p> +“Bear a hand with the boy,” cried Sikes, beckoning furiously to his +confederate. “Come back!” +</p> + +<p> +Toby made a show of returning; but ventured, in a low voice, broken for want of +breath, to intimate considerable reluctance as he came slowly along. +</p> + +<p> +“Quicker!” cried Sikes, laying the boy in a dry ditch at his feet, and drawing +a pistol from his pocket. “Don’t play booty with me.” +</p> + +<p> +At this moment the noise grew louder. Sikes, again looking round, could discern +that the men who had given chase were already climbing the gate of the field in +which he stood; and that a couple of dogs were some paces in advance of them. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all up, Bill!” cried Toby; “drop the kid, and show ’em your heels.” With +this parting advice, Mr. Crackit, preferring the chance of being shot by his +friend, to the certainty of being taken by his enemies, fairly turned tail, and +darted off at full speed. Sikes clenched his teeth; took one look around; threw +over the prostrate form of Oliver, the cape in which he had been hurriedly +muffled; ran along the front of the hedge, as if to distract the attention of +those behind, from the spot where the boy lay; paused, for a second, before +another hedge which met it at right angles; and whirling his pistol high into +the air, cleared it at a bound, and was gone. +</p> + +<p> +“Ho, ho, there!” cried a tremulous voice in the rear. “Pincher! Neptune! Come +here, come here!” +</p> + +<p> +The dogs, who, in common with their masters, seemed to have no particular +relish for the sport in which they were engaged, readily answered to the +command. Three men, who had by this time advanced some distance into the field, +stopped to take counsel together. +</p> + +<p> +“My advice, or, leastways, I should say, my <i>orders</i>, is,” said the +fattest man of the party, “that we ’mediately go home again.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am agreeable to anything which is agreeable to Mr. Giles,” said a shorter +man; who was by no means of a slim figure, and who was very pale in the face, +and very polite: as frightened men frequently are. +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t wish to appear ill-mannered, gentlemen,” said the third, who had +called the dogs back, “Mr. Giles ought to know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” replied the shorter man; “and whatever Mr. Giles says, it isn’t +our place to contradict him. No, no, I know my sitiwation! Thank my stars, I +know my sitiwation.” To tell the truth, the little man <i>did</i> seem to know +his situation, and to know perfectly well that it was by no means a desirable +one; for his teeth chattered in his head as he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“You are afraid, Brittles,” said Mr. Giles. +</p> + +<p> +“I an’t,” said Brittles. +</p> + +<p> +“You are,” said Giles. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a falsehood, Mr. Giles,” said Brittles. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a lie, Brittles,” said Mr. Giles. +</p> + +<p> +Now, these four retorts arose from Mr. Giles’s taunt; and Mr. Giles’s taunt had +arisen from his indignation at having the responsibility of going home again, +imposed upon himself under cover of a compliment. The third man brought the +dispute to a close, most philosophically. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you what it is, gentlemen,” said he, “we’re all afraid.” +</p> + +<p> +“Speak for yourself, sir,” said Mr. Giles, who was the palest of the party. +</p> + +<p> +“So I do,” replied the man. “It’s natural and proper to be afraid, under such +circumstances. I am.” +</p> + +<p> +“So am I,” said Brittles; “only there’s no call to tell a man he is, so +bounceably.” +</p> + +<p> +These frank admissions softened Mr. Giles, who at once owned that <i>he</i> was +afraid; upon which, they all three faced about, and ran back again with the +completest unanimity, until Mr. Giles (who had the shortest wind of the party, +as was encumbered with a pitchfork) most handsomely insisted on stopping, to +make an apology for his hastiness of speech. +</p> + +<p> +“But it’s wonderful,” said Mr. Giles, when he had explained, “what a man will +do, when his blood is up. I should have committed murder—I know I should—if +we’d caught one of them rascals.” +</p> + +<p> +As the other two were impressed with a similar presentiment; and as their +blood, like his, had all gone down again; some speculation ensued upon the +cause of this sudden change in their temperament. +</p> + +<p> +“I know what it was,” said Mr. Giles; “it was the gate.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t wonder if it was,” exclaimed Brittles, catching at the idea. +</p> + +<p> +“You may depend upon it,” said Giles, “that that gate stopped the flow of the +excitement. I felt all mine suddenly going away, as I was climbing over it.” +</p> + +<p> +By a remarkable coincidence, the other two had been visited with the same +unpleasant sensation at that precise moment. It was quite obvious, therefore, +that it was the gate; especially as there was no doubt regarding the time at +which the change had taken place, because all three remembered that they had +come in sight of the robbers at the instant of its occurance. +</p> + +<p> +This dialogue was held between the two men who had surprised the burglars, and +a travelling tinker who had been sleeping in an outhouse, and who had been +roused, together with his two mongrel curs, to join in the pursuit. Mr. Giles +acted in the double capacity of butler and steward to the old lady of the +mansion; Brittles was a lad of all-work: who, having entered her service a mere +child, was treated as a promising young boy still, though he was something past +thirty. +</p> + +<p> +Encouraging each other with such converse as this; but, keeping very close +together, notwithstanding, and looking apprehensively round, whenever a fresh +gust rattled through the boughs; the three men hurried back to a tree, behind +which they had left their lantern, lest its light should inform the thieves in +what direction to fire. Catching up the light, they made the best of their way +home, at a good round trot; and long after their dusky forms had ceased to be +discernible, the light might have been seen twinkling and dancing in the +distance, like some exhalation of the damp and gloomy atmosphere through which +it was swiftly borne. +</p> + +<p> +The air grew colder, as day came slowly on; and the mist rolled along the +ground like a dense cloud of smoke. The grass was wet; the pathways, and low +places, were all mire and water; the damp breath of an unwholesome wind went +languidly by, with a hollow moaning. Still, Oliver lay motionless and +insensible on the spot where Sikes had left him. +</p> + +<p> +Morning drew on apace. The air became more sharp and piercing, as its first +dull hue—the death of night, rather than the birth of day—glimmered faintly in +the sky. The objects which had looked dim and terrible in the darkness, grew +more and more defined, and gradually resolved into their familiar shapes. The +rain came down, thick and fast, and pattered noisily among the leafless bushes. +But, Oliver felt it not, as it beat against him; for he still lay stretched, +helpless and unconscious, on his bed of clay. +</p> + +<p> +At length, a low cry of pain broke the stillness that prevailed; and uttering +it, the boy awoke. His left arm, rudely bandaged in a shawl, hung heavy and +useless at his side; the bandage was saturated with blood. He was so weak, that +he could scarcely raise himself into a sitting posture; when he had done so, he +looked feebly round for help, and groaned with pain. Trembling in every joint, +from cold and exhaustion, he made an effort to stand upright; but, shuddering +from head to foot, fell prostrate on the ground. +</p> + +<p> +After a short return of the stupor in which he had been so long plunged, +Oliver: urged by a creeping sickness at his heart, which seemed to warn him +that if he lay there, he must surely die: got upon his feet, and essayed to +walk. His head was dizzy, and he staggered to and fro like a drunken man. But +he kept up, nevertheless, and, with his head drooping languidly on his breast, +went stumbling onward, he knew not whither. +</p> + +<p> +And now, hosts of bewildering and confused ideas came crowding on his mind. He +seemed to be still walking between Sikes and Crackit, who were angrily +disputing—for the very words they said, sounded in his ears; and when he caught +his own attention, as it were, by making some violent effort to save himself +from falling, he found that he was talking to them. Then, he was alone with +Sikes, plodding on as on the previous day; and as shadowy people passed them, +he felt the robber’s grasp upon his wrist. Suddenly, he started back at the +report of firearms; there rose into the air, loud cries and shouts; lights +gleamed before his eyes; all was noise and tumult, as some unseen hand bore him +hurriedly away. Through all these rapid visions, there ran an undefined, uneasy +consciousness of pain, which wearied and tormented him incessantly. +</p> + +<p> +Thus he staggered on, creeping, almost mechanically, between the bars of gates, +or through hedge-gaps as they came in his way, until he reached a road. Here +the rain began to fall so heavily, that it roused him. +</p> + +<p> +He looked about, and saw that at no great distance there was a house, which +perhaps he could reach. Pitying his condition, they might have compassion on +him; and if they did not, it would be better, he thought, to die near human +beings, than in the lonely open fields. He summoned up all his strength for one +last trial, and bent his faltering steps towards it. +</p> + +<p> +As he drew nearer to this house, a feeling come over him that he had seen it +before. He remembered nothing of its details; but the shape and aspect of the +building seemed familiar to him. +</p> + +<p> +That garden wall! On the grass inside, he had fallen on his knees last night, +and prayed the two men’s mercy. It was the very house they had attempted to +rob. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver felt such fear come over him when he recognised the place, that, for the +instant, he forgot the agony of his wound, and thought only of flight. Flight! +He could scarcely stand: and if he were in full possession of all the best +powers of his slight and youthful frame, whither could he fly? He pushed +against the garden-gate; it was unlocked, and swung open on its hinges. He +tottered across the lawn; climbed the steps; knocked faintly at the door; and, +his whole strength failing him, sunk down against one of the pillars of the +little portico. +</p> + +<p> +It happened that about this time, Mr. Giles, Brittles, and the tinker, were +recruiting themselves, after the fatigues and terrors of the night, with tea +and sundries, in the kitchen. Not that it was Mr. Giles’s habit to admit to too +great familiarity the humbler servants: towards whom it was rather his wont to +deport himself with a lofty affability, which, while it gratified, could not +fail to remind them of his superior position in society. But, death, fires, and +burglary, make all men equals; so Mr. Giles sat with his legs stretched out +before the kitchen fender, leaning his left arm on the table, while, with his +right, he illustrated a circumstantial and minute account of the robbery, to +which his hearers (but especially the cook and housemaid, who were of the +party) listened with breathless interest. +</p> + +<p> +“It was about half-past two,” said Mr. Giles, “or I wouldn’t swear that it +mightn’t have been a little nearer three, when I woke up, and, turning round in +my bed, as it might be so, (here Mr. Giles turned round in his chair, and +pulled the corner of the table-cloth over him to imitate bed-clothes,) I +fancied I heerd a noise.” +</p> + +<p> +At this point of the narrative the cook turned pale, and asked the housemaid to +shut the door: who asked Brittles, who asked the tinker, who pretended not to +hear. +</p> + +<p> +“—Heerd a noise,” continued Mr. Giles. “I says, at first, ‘This is illusion’; +and was composing myself off to sleep, when I heerd the noise again, distinct.” +</p> + +<p> +“What sort of a noise?” asked the cook. +</p> + +<p> +“A kind of a busting noise,” replied Mr. Giles, looking round him. +</p> + +<p> +“More like the noise of powdering a iron bar on a nutmeg-grater,” suggested +Brittles. +</p> + +<p> +“It was, when <i>you</i> heerd it, sir,” rejoined Mr. Giles; “but, at this +time, it had a busting sound. I turned down the clothes”; continued Giles, +rolling back the table-cloth, “sat up in bed; and listened.” +</p> + +<p> +The cook and housemaid simultaneously ejaculated “Lor!” and drew their chairs +closer together. +</p> + +<p> +“I heerd it now, quite apparent,” resumed Mr. Giles. “‘Somebody,’ I says, ‘is +forcing of a door, or window; what’s to be done? I’ll call up that poor lad, +Brittles, and save him from being murdered in his bed; or his throat,’ I says, +‘may be cut from his right ear to his left, without his ever knowing it.’” +</p> + +<p> +Here, all eyes were turned upon Brittles, who fixed his upon the speaker, and +stared at him, with his mouth wide open, and his face expressive of the most +unmitigated horror. +</p> + +<p> +“I tossed off the clothes,” said Giles, throwing away the table-cloth, and +looking very hard at the cook and housemaid, “got softly out of bed; drew on a +pair of—” +</p> + +<p> +“Ladies present, Mr. Giles,” murmured the tinker. +</p> + +<p> +“—Of <i>shoes</i>, sir,” said Giles, turning upon him, and laying great +emphasis on the word; “seized the loaded pistol that always goes upstairs with +the plate-basket; and walked on tiptoes to his room. ‘Brittles,’ I says, when I +had woke him, ‘don’t be frightened!’” +</p> + +<p> +“So you did,” observed Brittles, in a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +“‘We’re dead men, I think, Brittles,’ I says,” continued Giles; “‘but don’t be +frightened.’” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Was</i> he frightened?” asked the cook. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a bit of it,” replied Mr. Giles. “He was as firm—ah! pretty near as firm +as I was.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should have died at once, I’m sure, if it had been me,” observed the +housemaid. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a woman,” retorted Brittles, plucking up a little. +</p> + +<p> +“Brittles is right,” said Mr. Giles, nodding his head, approvingly; “from a +woman, nothing else was to be expected. We, being men, took a dark lantern that +was standing on Brittle’s hob, and groped our way downstairs in the pitch +dark,—as it might be so.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Giles had risen from his seat, and taken two steps with his eyes shut, to +accompany his description with appropriate action, when he started violently, +in common with the rest of the company, and hurried back to his chair. The cook +and housemaid screamed. +</p> + +<p> +“It was a knock,” said Mr. Giles, assuming perfect serenity. “Open the door, +somebody.” +</p> + +<p> +Nobody moved. +</p> + +<p> +“It seems a strange sort of a thing, a knock coming at such a time in the +morning,” said Mr. Giles, surveying the pale faces which surrounded him, and +looking very blank himself; “but the door must be opened. Do you hear, +somebody?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Giles, as he spoke, looked at Brittles; but that young man, being naturally +modest, probably considered himself nobody, and so held that the inquiry could +not have any application to him; at all events, he tendered no reply. Mr. Giles +directed an appealing glance at the tinker; but he had suddenly fallen asleep. +The women were out of the question. +</p> + +<p> +“If Brittles would rather open the door, in the presence of witnesses,” said +Mr. Giles, after a short silence, “I am ready to make one.” +</p> + +<p> +“So am I,” said the tinker, waking up, as suddenly as he had fallen asleep. +</p> + +<p> +Brittles capitulated on these terms; and the party being somewhat re-assured by +the discovery (made on throwing open the shutters) that it was now broad day, +took their way upstairs; with the dogs in front. The two women, who were afraid +to stay below, brought up the rear. By the advice of Mr. Giles, they all talked +very loud, to warn any evil-disposed person outside, that they were strong in +numbers; and by a master-stoke of policy, originating in the brain of the same +ingenious gentleman, the dogs’ tails were well pinched, in the hall, to make +them bark savagely. +</p> + +<p> +These precautions having been taken, Mr. Giles held on fast by the tinker’s arm +(to prevent his running away, as he pleasantly said), and gave the word of +command to open the door. Brittles obeyed; the group, peeping timorously over +each other’s shoulders, beheld no more formidable object than poor little +Oliver Twist, speechless and exhausted, who raised his heavy eyes, and mutely +solicited their compassion. +</p> + +<p> +“A boy!” exclaimed Mr. Giles, valiantly, pushing the tinker into the +background. “What’s the matter with the—eh?—Why—Brittles—look here—don’t you +know?” +</p> + +<p> +Brittles, who had got behind the door to open it, no sooner saw Oliver, than he +uttered a loud cry. Mr. Giles, seizing the boy by one leg and one arm +(fortunately not the broken limb) lugged him straight into the hall, and +deposited him at full length on the floor thereof. +</p> + +<p> +“Here he is!” bawled Giles, calling in a state of great excitement, up the +staircase; “here’s one of the thieves, ma’am! Here’s a thief, miss! Wounded, +miss! I shot him, miss; and Brittles held the light.” +</p> + +<p> +“—In a lantern, miss,” cried Brittles, applying one hand to the side of his +mouth, so that his voice might travel the better. +</p> + +<p> +The two women-servants ran upstairs to carry the intelligence that Mr. Giles +had captured a robber; and the tinker busied himself in endeavouring to restore +Oliver, lest he should die before he could be hanged. In the midst of all this +noise and commotion, there was heard a sweet female voice, which quelled it in +an instant. +</p> + +<p> +“Giles!” whispered the voice from the stair-head. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m here, miss,” replied Mr. Giles. “Don’t be frightened, miss; I ain’t much +injured. He didn’t make a very desperate resistance, miss! I was soon too many +for him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush!” replied the young lady; “you frighten my aunt as much as the thieves +did. Is the poor creature much hurt?” +</p> + +<p> +“Wounded desperate, miss,” replied Giles, with indescribable complacency. +</p> + +<p> +“He looks as if he was a-going, miss,” bawled Brittles, in the same manner as +before. “Wouldn’t you like to come and look at him, miss, in case he should?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush, pray; there’s a good man!” rejoined the lady. “Wait quietly only one +instant, while I speak to aunt.” +</p> + +<p> +With a footstep as soft and gentle as the voice, the speaker tripped away. She +soon returned, with the direction that the wounded person was to be carried, +carefully, upstairs to Mr. Giles’s room; and that Brittles was to saddle the +pony and betake himself instantly to Chertsey: from which place, he was to +despatch, with all speed, a constable and doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“But won’t you take one look at him, first, miss?” asked Mr. Giles, with as +much pride as if Oliver were some bird of rare plumage, that he had skilfully +brought down. “Not one little peep, miss?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not now, for the world,” replied the young lady. “Poor fellow! Oh! treat him +kindly, Giles for my sake!” +</p> + +<p> +The old servant looked up at the speaker, as she turned away, with a glance as +proud and admiring as if she had been his own child. Then, bending over Oliver, +he helped to carry him upstairs, with the care and solicitude of a woman. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap29"></a> CHAPTER XXIX.<br/> +HAS AN INTRODUCTORY ACCOUNT OF THE INMATES OF THE HOUSE, TO WHICH OLIVER +RESORTED</h2> + +<p> +In a handsome room: though its furniture had rather the air of old-fashioned +comfort, than of modern elegance: there sat two ladies at a well-spread +breakfast-table. Mr. Giles, dressed with scrupulous care in a full suit of +black, was in attendance upon them. He had taken his station some half-way +between the side-board and the breakfast-table; and, with his body drawn up to +its full height, his head thrown back, and inclined the merest trifle on one +side, his left leg advanced, and his right hand thrust into his waist-coat, +while his left hung down by his side, grasping a waiter, looked like one who +laboured under a very agreeable sense of his own merits and importance. +</p> + +<p> +Of the two ladies, one was well advanced in years; but the high-backed oaken +chair in which she sat, was not more upright than she. Dressed with the utmost +nicety and precision, in a quaint mixture of by-gone costume, with some slight +concessions to the prevailing taste, which rather served to point the old style +pleasantly than to impair its effect, she sat, in a stately manner, with her +hands folded on the table before her. Her eyes (and age had dimmed but little +of their brightness) were attentively upon her young companion. +</p> + +<p> +The younger lady was in the lovely bloom and spring-time of womanhood; at that +age, when, if ever angels be for God’s good purposes enthroned in mortal forms, +they may be, without impiety, supposed to abide in such as hers. +</p> + +<p> +She was not past seventeen. Cast in so slight and exquisite a mould; so mild +and gentle; so pure and beautiful; that earth seemed not her element, nor its +rough creatures her fit companions. The very intelligence that shone in her +deep blue eye, and was stamped upon her noble head, seemed scarcely of her age, +or of the world; and yet the changing expression of sweetness and good humour, +the thousand lights that played about the face, and left no shadow there; above +all, the smile, the cheerful, happy smile, were made for Home, and fireside +peace and happiness. +</p> + +<p> +She was busily engaged in the little offices of the table. Chancing to raise +her eyes as the elder lady was regarding her, she playfully put back her hair, +which was simply braided on her forehead; and threw into her beaming look, such +an expression of affection and artless loveliness, that blessed spirits might +have smiled to look upon her. +</p> + +<p> +“And Brittles has been gone upwards of an hour, has he?” asked the old lady, +after a pause. +</p> + +<p> +“An hour and twelve minutes, ma’am,” replied Mr. Giles, referring to a silver +watch, which he drew forth by a black ribbon. +</p> + +<p> +“He is always slow,” remarked the old lady. +</p> + +<p> +“Brittles always was a slow boy, ma’am,” replied the attendant. And seeing, by +the bye, that Brittles had been a slow boy for upwards of thirty years, there +appeared no great probability of his ever being a fast one. +</p> + +<p> +“He gets worse instead of better, I think,” said the elder lady. +</p> + +<p> +“It is very inexcusable in him if he stops to play with any other boys,” said +the young lady, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Giles was apparently considering the propriety of indulging in a respectful +smile himself, when a gig drove up to the garden-gate: out of which there +jumped a fat gentleman, who ran straight up to the door: and who, getting +quickly into the house by some mysterious process, burst into the room, and +nearly overturned Mr. Giles and the breakfast-table together. +</p> + +<p> +“I never heard of such a thing!” exclaimed the fat gentleman. “My dear Mrs. +Maylie—bless my soul—in the silence of the night, too—I <i>never</i> heard of +such a thing!” +</p> + +<p> +With these expressions of condolence, the fat gentleman shook hands with both +ladies, and drawing up a chair, inquired how they found themselves. +</p> + +<p> +“You ought to be dead; positively dead with the fright,” said the fat +gentleman. “Why didn’t you send? Bless me, my man should have come in a minute; +and so would I; and my assistant would have been delighted; or anybody, I’m +sure, under such circumstances. Dear, dear! So unexpected! In the silence of +the night, too!” +</p> + +<p> +The doctor seemed especially troubled by the fact of the robbery having been +unexpected, and attempted in the night-time; as if it were the established +custom of gentlemen in the housebreaking way to transact business at noon, and +to make an appointment, by post, a day or two previous. +</p> + +<p> +“And you, Miss Rose,” said the doctor, turning to the young lady, “I—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! very much so, indeed,” said Rose, interrupting him; “but there is a poor +creature upstairs, whom aunt wishes you to see.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! to be sure,” replied the doctor, “so there is. That was your handiwork, +Giles, I understand.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Giles, who had been feverishly putting the tea-cups to rights, blushed very +red, and said that he had had that honour. +</p> + +<p> +“Honour, eh?” said the doctor; “well, I don’t know; perhaps it’s as honourable +to hit a thief in a back kitchen, as to hit your man at twelve paces. Fancy +that he fired in the air, and you’ve fought a duel, Giles.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Giles, who thought this light treatment of the matter an unjust attempt at +diminishing his glory, answered respectfully, that it was not for the like of +him to judge about that; but he rather thought it was no joke to the opposite +party. +</p> + +<p> +“Gad, that’s true!” said the doctor. “Where is he? Show me the way. I’ll look +in again, as I come down, Mrs. Maylie. That’s the little window that he got in +at, eh? Well, I couldn’t have believed it!” +</p> + +<p> +Talking all the way, he followed Mr. Giles upstairs; and while he is going +upstairs, the reader may be informed, that Mr. Losberne, a surgeon in the +neighbourhood, known through a circuit of ten miles round as “the doctor,” had +grown fat, more from good-humour than from good living: and was as kind and +hearty, and withal as eccentric an old bachelor, as will be found in five times +that space, by any explorer alive. +</p> + +<p> +The doctor was absent, much longer than either he or the ladies had +anticipated. A large flat box was fetched out of the gig; and a bedroom bell +was rung very often; and the servants ran up and down stairs perpetually; from +which tokens it was justly concluded that something important was going on +above. At length he returned; and in reply to an anxious inquiry after his +patient; looked very mysterious, and closed the door, carefully. +</p> + +<p> +“This is a very extraordinary thing, Mrs. Maylie,” said the doctor, standing +with his back to the door, as if to keep it shut. +</p> + +<p> +“He is not in danger, I hope?” said the old lady. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, that would <i>not</i> be an extraordinary thing, under the +circumstances,” replied the doctor; “though I don’t think he is. Have you seen +the thief?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” rejoined the old lady. +</p> + +<p> +“Nor heard anything about him?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” interposed Mr. Giles; “but I was going to tell you +about him when Doctor Losberne came in.” +</p> + +<p> +The fact was, that Mr. Giles had not, at first, been able to bring his mind to +the avowal, that he had only shot a boy. Such commendations had been bestowed +upon his bravery, that he could not, for the life of him, help postponing the +explanation for a few delicious minutes; during which he had flourished, in the +very zenith of a brief reputation for undaunted courage. +</p> + +<p> +“Rose wished to see the man,” said Mrs. Maylie, “but I wouldn’t hear of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Humph!” rejoined the doctor. “There is nothing very alarming in his +appearance. Have you any objection to see him in my presence?” +</p> + +<p> +“If it be necessary,” replied the old lady, “certainly not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I think it is necessary,” said the doctor; “at all events, I am quite +sure that you would deeply regret not having done so, if you postponed it. He +is perfectly quiet and comfortable now. Allow me—Miss Rose, will you permit me? +Not the slightest fear, I pledge you my honour!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap30"></a> CHAPTER XXX.<br/> +RELATES WHAT OLIVER’S NEW VISITORS THOUGHT OF HIM</h2> + +<p> +With many loquacious assurances that they would be agreeably surprised in the +aspect of the criminal, the doctor drew the young lady’s arm through one of +his; and offering his disengaged hand to Mrs. Maylie, led them, with much +ceremony and stateliness, upstairs. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said the doctor, in a whisper, as he softly turned the handle of a +bedroom-door, “let us hear what you think of him. He has not been shaved very +recently, but he don’t look at all ferocious notwithstanding. Stop, though! Let +me first see that he is in visiting order.” +</p> + +<p> +Stepping before them, he looked into the room. Motioning them to advance, he +closed the door when they had entered; and gently drew back the curtains of the +bed. Upon it, in lieu of the dogged, black-visaged ruffian they had expected to +behold, there lay a mere child: worn with pain and exhaustion, and sunk into a +deep sleep. His wounded arm, bound and splintered up, was crossed upon his +breast; his head reclined upon the other arm, which was half hidden by his long +hair, as it streamed over the pillow. +</p> + +<p> +The honest gentleman held the curtain in his hand, and looked on, for a minute +or so, in silence. Whilst he was watching the patient thus, the younger lady +glided softly past, and seating herself in a chair by the bedside, gathered +Oliver’s hair from his face. As she stooped over him, her tears fell upon his +forehead. +</p> + +<p> +The boy stirred, and smiled in his sleep, as though these marks of pity and +compassion had awakened some pleasant dream of a love and affection he had +never known. Thus, a strain of gentle music, or the rippling of water in a +silent place, or the odour of a flower, or the mention of a familiar word, will +sometimes call up sudden dim remembrances of scenes that never were, in this +life; which vanish like a breath; which some brief memory of a happier +existence, long gone by, would seem to have awakened; which no voluntary +exertion of the mind can ever recall. +</p> + +<p> +“What can this mean?” exclaimed the elder lady. “This poor child can never have +been the pupil of robbers!” +</p> + +<p> +“Vice,” said the surgeon, replacing the curtain, “takes up her abode in many +temples; and who can say that a fair outside shall not enshrine her?” +</p> + +<p> +“But at so early an age!” urged Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear young lady,” rejoined the surgeon, mournfully shaking his head; +“crime, like death, is not confined to the old and withered alone. The youngest +and fairest are too often its chosen victims.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, can you—oh! can you really believe that this delicate boy has been the +voluntary associate of the worst outcasts of society?” said Rose. +</p> + +<p> +The surgeon shook his head, in a manner which intimated that he feared it was +very possible; and observing that they might disturb the patient, led the way +into an adjoining apartment. +</p> + +<p> +“But even if he has been wicked,” pursued Rose, “think how young he is; think +that he may never have known a mother’s love, or the comfort of a home; that +ill-usage and blows, or the want of bread, may have driven him to herd with men +who have forced him to guilt. Aunt, dear aunt, for mercy’s sake, think of this, +before you let them drag this sick child to a prison, which in any case must be +the grave of all his chances of amendment. Oh! as you love me, and know that I +have never felt the want of parents in your goodness and affection, but that I +might have done so, and might have been equally helpless and unprotected with +this poor child, have pity upon him before it is too late!” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear love,” said the elder lady, as she folded the weeping girl to her +bosom, “do you think I would harm a hair of his head?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no!” replied Rose, eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“No, surely,” said the old lady; “my days are drawing to their close: and may +mercy be shown to me as I show it to others! What can I do to save him, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me think, ma’am,” said the doctor; “let me think.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Losberne thrust his hands into his pockets, and took several turns up and +down the room; often stopping, and balancing himself on his toes, and frowning +frightfully. After various exclamations of “I’ve got it now” and “no, I +haven’t,” and as many renewals of the walking and frowning, he at length made a +dead halt, and spoke as follows: +</p> + +<p> +“I think if you give me a full and unlimited commission to bully Giles, and +that little boy, Brittles, I can manage it. Giles is a faithful fellow and an +old servant, I know; but you can make it up to him in a thousand ways, and +reward him for being such a good shot besides. You don’t object to that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Unless there is some other way of preserving the child,” replied Mrs. Maylie. +</p> + +<p> +“There is no other,” said the doctor. “No other, take my word for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then my aunt invests you with full power,” said Rose, smiling through her +tears; “but pray don’t be harder upon the poor fellows than is indispensably +necessary.” +</p> + +<p> +“You seem to think,” retorted the doctor, “that everybody is disposed to be +hard-hearted today, except yourself, Miss Rose. I only hope, for the sake of +the rising male sex generally, that you may be found in as vulnerable and +soft-hearted a mood by the first eligible young fellow who appeals to your +compassion; and I wish I were a young fellow, that I might avail myself, on the +spot, of such a favourable opportunity for doing so, as the present.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are as great a boy as poor Brittles himself,” returned Rose, blushing. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the doctor, laughing heartily, “that is no very difficult matter. +But to return to this boy. The great point of our agreement is yet to come. He +will wake in an hour or so, I dare say; and although I have told that +thick-headed constable-fellow downstairs that he musn’t be moved or spoken to, +on peril of his life, I think we may converse with him without danger. Now I +make this stipulation—that I shall examine him in your presence, and that, if, +from what he says, we judge, and I can show to the satisfaction of your cool +reason, that he is a real and thorough bad one (which is more than possible), +he shall be left to his fate, without any farther interference on my part, at +all events.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh no, aunt!” entreated Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes, aunt!” said the doctor. “Is it a bargain?” +</p> + +<p> +“He cannot be hardened in vice,” said Rose; “It is impossible.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good,” retorted the doctor; “then so much the more reason for acceding to +my proposition.” +</p> + +<p> +Finally the treaty was entered into; and the parties thereunto sat down to +wait, with some impatience, until Oliver should awake. +</p> + +<p> +The patience of the two ladies was destined to undergo a longer trial than Mr. +Losberne had led them to expect; for hour after hour passed on, and still +Oliver slumbered heavily. It was evening, indeed, before the kind-hearted +doctor brought them the intelligence, that he was at length sufficiently +restored to be spoken to. The boy was very ill, he said, and weak from the loss +of blood; but his mind was so troubled with anxiety to disclose something, that +he deemed it better to give him the opportunity, than to insist upon his +remaining quiet until next morning: which he should otherwise have done. +</p> + +<p> +The conference was a long one. Oliver told them all his simple history, and was +often compelled to stop, by pain and want of strength. It was a solemn thing, +to hear, in the darkened room, the feeble voice of the sick child recounting a +weary catalogue of evils and calamities which hard men had brought upon him. +Oh! if when we oppress and grind our fellow-creatures, we bestowed but one +thought on the dark evidences of human error, which, like dense and heavy +clouds, are rising, slowly it is true, but not less surely, to Heaven, to pour +their after-vengeance on our heads; if we heard but one instant, in +imagination, the deep testimony of dead men’s voices, which no power can +stifle, and no pride shut out; where would be the injury and injustice, the +suffering, misery, cruelty, and wrong, that each day’s life brings with it! +</p> + +<p> +Oliver’s pillow was smoothed by gentle hands that night; and loveliness and +virtue watched him as he slept. He felt calm and happy, and could have died +without a murmur. +</p> + +<p> +The momentous interview was no sooner concluded, and Oliver composed to rest +again, than the doctor, after wiping his eyes, and condemning them for being +weak all at once, betook himself downstairs to open upon Mr. Giles. And finding +nobody about the parlours, it occurred to him, that he could perhaps originate +the proceedings with better effect in the kitchen; so into the kitchen he went. +</p> + +<p> +There were assembled, in that lower house of the domestic parliament, the +women-servants, Mr. Brittles, Mr. Giles, the tinker (who had received a special +invitation to regale himself for the remainder of the day, in consideration of +his services), and the constable. The latter gentleman had a large staff, a +large head, large features, and large half-boots; and he looked as if he had +been taking a proportionate allowance of ale—as indeed he had. +</p> + +<p> +The adventures of the previous night were still under discussion; for Mr. Giles +was expatiating upon his presence of mind, when the doctor entered; Mr. +Brittles, with a mug of ale in his hand, was corroborating everything, before +his superior said it. +</p> + +<p> +“Sit still!” said the doctor, waving his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir,” said Mr. Giles. “Misses wished some ale to be given out, sir; +and as I felt no ways inclined for my own little room, sir, and was disposed +for company, I am taking mine among ’em here.” +</p> + +<p> +Brittles headed a low murmur, by which the ladies and gentlemen generally were +understood to express the gratification they derived from Mr. Giles’s +condescension. Mr. Giles looked round with a patronising air, as much as to say +that so long as they behaved properly, he would never desert them. +</p> + +<p> +“How is the patient tonight, sir?” asked Giles. +</p> + +<p> +“So-so”; returned the doctor. “I am afraid you have got yourself into a scrape +there, Mr. Giles.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you don’t mean to say, sir,” said Mr. Giles, trembling, “that he’s +going to die. If I thought it, I should never be happy again. I wouldn’t cut a +boy off: no, not even Brittles here; not for all the plate in the county, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s not the point,” said the doctor, mysteriously. “Mr. Giles, are you a +Protestant?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir, I hope so,” faltered Mr. Giles, who had turned very pale. +</p> + +<p> +“And what are <i>you</i>, boy?” said the doctor, turning sharply upon Brittles. +</p> + +<p> +“Lord bless me, sir!” replied Brittles, starting violently; “I’m the same as +Mr. Giles, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then tell me this,” said the doctor, “both of you, both of you! Are you going +to take upon yourselves to swear, that that boy upstairs is the boy that was +put through the little window last night? Out with it! Come! We are prepared +for you!” +</p> + +<p> +The doctor, who was universally considered one of the best-tempered creatures +on earth, made this demand in such a dreadful tone of anger, that Giles and +Brittles, who were considerably muddled by ale and excitement, stared at each +other in a state of stupefaction. +</p> + +<p> +“Pay attention to the reply, constable, will you?” said the doctor, shaking his +forefinger with great solemnity of manner, and tapping the bridge of his nose +with it, to bespeak the exercise of that worthy’s utmost acuteness. “Something +may come of this before long.” +</p> + +<p> +The constable looked as wise as he could, and took up his staff of office: +which had been reclining indolently in the chimney-corner. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a simple question of identity, you will observe,” said the doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what it is, sir,” replied the constable, coughing with great violence; +for he had finished his ale in a hurry, and some of it had gone the wrong way. +</p> + +<p> +“Here’s the house broken into,” said the doctor, “and a couple of men catch one +moment’s glimpse of a boy, in the midst of gunpowder smoke, and in all the +distraction of alarm and darkness. Here’s a boy comes to that very same house, +next morning, and because he happens to have his arm tied up, these men lay +violent hands upon him—by doing which, they place his life in great danger—and +swear he is the thief. Now, the question is, whether these men are justified by +the fact; if not, in what situation do they place themselves?” +</p> + +<p> +The constable nodded profoundly. He said, if that wasn’t law, he would be glad +to know what was. +</p> + +<p> +“I ask you again,” thundered the doctor, “are you, on your solemn oaths, able +to identify that boy?” +</p> + +<p> +Brittles looked doubtfully at Mr. Giles; Mr. Giles looked doubtfully at +Brittles; the constable put his hand behind his ear, to catch the reply; the +two women and the tinker leaned forward to listen; the doctor glanced keenly +round; when a ring was heard at the gate, and at the same moment, the sound of +wheels. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the runners!” cried Brittles, to all appearance much relieved. +</p> + +<p> +“The what?” exclaimed the doctor, aghast in his turn. +</p> + +<p> +“The Bow Street officers, sir,” replied Brittles, taking up a candle; “me and +Mr. Giles sent for ’em this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” cried the doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied Brittles; “I sent a message up by the coachman, and I only +wonder they weren’t here before, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“You did, did you? Then confound your—slow coaches down here; that’s all,” said +the doctor, walking away. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap31"></a> CHAPTER XXXI.<br/> +INVOLVES A CRITICAL POSITION</h2> + +<p> +“Who’s that?” inquired Brittles, opening the door a little way, with the chain +up, and peeping out, shading the candle with his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Open the door,” replied a man outside; “it’s the officers from Bow Street, as +was sent to today.” +</p> + +<p> +Much comforted by this assurance, Brittles opened the door to its full width, +and confronted a portly man in a great-coat; who walked in, without saying +anything more, and wiped his shoes on the mat, as coolly as if he lived there. +</p> + +<p> +“Just send somebody out to relieve my mate, will you, young man?” said the +officer; “he’s in the gig, a-minding the prad. Have you got a coach ’us here, +that you could put it up in, for five or ten minutes?” +</p> + +<p> +Brittles replying in the affirmative, and pointing out the building, the portly +man stepped back to the garden-gate, and helped his companion to put up the +gig: while Brittles lighted them, in a state of great admiration. This done, +they returned to the house, and, being shown into a parlour, took off their +great-coats and hats, and showed like what they were. +</p> + +<p> +The man who had knocked at the door, was a stout personage of middle height, +aged about fifty: with shiny black hair, cropped pretty close; half-whiskers, a +round face, and sharp eyes. The other was a red-headed, bony man, in top-boots; +with a rather ill-favoured countenance, and a turned-up sinister-looking nose. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell your governor that Blathers and Duff is here, will you?” said the stouter +man, smoothing down his hair, and laying a pair of handcuffs on the table. “Oh! +Good-evening, master. Can I have a word or two with you in private, if you +please?” +</p> + +<p> +This was addressed to Mr. Losberne, who now made his appearance; that +gentleman, motioning Brittles to retire, brought in the two ladies, and shut +the door. +</p> + +<p> +“This is the lady of the house,” said Mr. Losberne, motioning towards Mrs. +Maylie. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Blathers made a bow. Being desired to sit down, he put his hat on the +floor, and taking a chair, motioned to Duff to do the same. The latter +gentleman, who did not appear quite so much accustomed to good society, or +quite so much at his ease in it—one of the two—seated himself, after undergoing +several muscular affections of the limbs, and the head of his stick into his +mouth, with some embarrassment. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, with regard to this here robbery, master,” said Blathers. “What are the +circumstances?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Losberne, who appeared desirous of gaining time, recounted them at great +length, and with much circumlocution. Messrs. Blathers and Duff looked very +knowing meanwhile, and occasionally exchanged a nod. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t say, for certain, till I see the work, of course,” said Blathers; “but +my opinion at once is,—I don’t mind committing myself to that extent,—that this +wasn’t done by a yokel; eh, Duff?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not,” replied Duff. +</p> + +<p> +“And, translating the word yokel for the benefit of the ladies, I apprehend +your meaning to be, that this attempt was not made by a countryman?” said Mr. +Losberne, with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it, master,” replied Blathers. “This is all about the robbery, is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“All,” replied the doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, what is this, about this here boy that the servants are a-talking on?” +said Blathers. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing at all,” replied the doctor. “One of the frightened servants chose to +take it into his head, that he had something to do with this attempt to break +into the house; but it’s nonsense: sheer absurdity.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wery easy disposed of, if it is,” remarked Duff. +</p> + +<p> +“What he says is quite correct,” observed Blathers, nodding his head in a +confirmatory way, and playing carelessly with the handcuffs, as if they were a +pair of castanets. “Who is the boy? What account does he give of himself? Where +did he come from? He didn’t drop out of the clouds, did he, master?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not,” replied the doctor, with a nervous glance at the two ladies. +“I know his whole history: but we can talk about that presently. You would +like, first, to see the place where the thieves made their attempt, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” rejoined Mr. Blathers. “We had better inspect the premises first, +and examine the servants afterwards. That’s the usual way of doing business.” +</p> + +<p> +Lights were then procured; and Messrs. Blathers and Duff, attended by the +native constable, Brittles, Giles, and everybody else in short, went into the +little room at the end of the passage and looked out at the window; and +afterwards went round by way of the lawn, and looked in at the window; and +after that, had a candle handed out to inspect the shutter with; and after +that, a lantern to trace the footsteps with; and after that, a pitchfork to +poke the bushes with. This done, amidst the breathless interest of all +beholders, they came in again; and Mr. Giles and Brittles were put through a +melodramatic representation of their share in the previous night’s adventures: +which they performed some six times over: contradicting each other, in not more +than one important respect, the first time, and in not more than a dozen the +last. This consummation being arrived at, Blathers and Duff cleared the room, +and held a long council together, compared with which, for secrecy and +solemnity, a consultation of great doctors on the knottiest point in medicine, +would be mere child’s play. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, the doctor walked up and down the next room in a very uneasy state; +and Mrs. Maylie and Rose looked on, with anxious faces. +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my word,” he said, making a halt, after a great number of very rapid +turns, “I hardly know what to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely,” said Rose, “the poor child’s story, faithfully repeated to these men, +will be sufficient to exonerate him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I doubt it, my dear young lady,” said the doctor, shaking his head. “I don’t +think it would exonerate him, either with them, or with legal functionaries of +a higher grade. What is he, after all, they would say? A runaway. Judged by +mere worldly considerations and probabilities, his story is a very doubtful +one.” +</p> + +<p> +“You believe it, surely?” interrupted Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I</i> believe it, strange as it is; and perhaps I may be an old fool for +doing so,” rejoined the doctor; “but I don’t think it is exactly the tale for a +practical police-officer, nevertheless.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” demanded Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“Because, my pretty cross-examiner,” replied the doctor: “because, viewed with +their eyes, there are many ugly points about it; he can only prove the parts +that look ill, and none of those that look well. Confound the fellows, they +<i>will</i> have the why and the wherefore, and will take nothing for granted. +On his own showing, you see, he has been the companion of thieves for some time +past; he has been carried to a police-officer, on a charge of picking a +gentleman’s pocket; he has been taken away, forcibly, from that gentleman’s +house, to a place which he cannot describe or point out, and of the situation +of which he has not the remotest idea. He is brought down to Chertsey, by men +who seem to have taken a violent fancy to him, whether he will or no; and is +put through a window to rob a house; and then, just at the very moment when he +is going to alarm the inmates, and so do the very thing that would set him all +to rights, there rushes into the way, a blundering dog of a half-bred butler, +and shoots him! As if on purpose to prevent his doing any good for himself! +Don’t you see all this?” +</p> + +<p> +“I see it, of course,” replied Rose, smiling at the doctor’s impetuosity; “but +still I do not see anything in it, to criminate the poor child.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied the doctor; “of course not! Bless the bright eyes of your sex! +They never see, whether for good or bad, more than one side of any question; +and that is, always, the one which first presents itself to them.” +</p> + +<p> +Having given vent to this result of experience, the doctor put his hands into +his pockets, and walked up and down the room with even greater rapidity than +before. +</p> + +<p> +“The more I think of it,” said the doctor, “the more I see that it will +occasion endless trouble and difficulty if we put these men in possession of +the boy’s real story. I am certain it will not be believed; and even if they +can do nothing to him in the end, still the dragging it forward, and giving +publicity to all the doubts that will be cast upon it, must interfere, +materially, with your benevolent plan of rescuing him from misery.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! what is to be done?” cried Rose. “Dear, dear! why did they send for these +people?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, indeed!” exclaimed Mrs. Maylie. “I would not have had them here, for the +world.” +</p> + +<p> +“All I know is,” said Mr. Losberne, at last: sitting down with a kind of +desperate calmness, “that we must try and carry it off with a bold face. The +object is a good one, and that must be our excuse. The boy has strong symptoms +of fever upon him, and is in no condition to be talked to any more; that’s one +comfort. We must make the best of it; and if bad be the best, it is no fault of +ours. Come in!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, master,” said Blathers, entering the room followed by his colleague, and +making the door fast, before he said any more. “This warn’t a put-up thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what the devil’s a put-up thing?” demanded the doctor, impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +“We call it a put-up robbery, ladies,” said Blathers, turning to them, as if he +pitied their ignorance, but had a contempt for the doctor’s, “when the servants +is in it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody suspected them, in this case,” said Mrs. Maylie. +</p> + +<p> +“Wery likely not, ma’am,” replied Blathers; “but they might have been in it, +for all that.” +</p> + +<p> +“More likely on that wery account,” said Duff. +</p> + +<p> +“We find it was a town hand,” said Blathers, continuing his report; “for the +style of work is first-rate.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wery pretty indeed it is,” remarked Duff, in an undertone. +</p> + +<p> +“There was two of ’em in it,” continued Blathers; “and they had a boy with ’em; +that’s plain from the size of the window. That’s all to be said at present. +We’ll see this lad that you’ve got upstairs at once, if you please.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps they will take something to drink first, Mrs. Maylie?” said the +doctor: his face brightening, as if some new thought had occurred to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! to be sure!” exclaimed Rose, eagerly. “You shall have it immediately, if +you will.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, thank you, miss!” said Blathers, drawing his coat-sleeve across his +mouth; “it’s dry work, this sort of duty. Anythink that’s handy, miss; don’t +put yourself out of the way, on our accounts.” +</p> + +<p> +“What shall it be?” asked the doctor, following the young lady to the +sideboard. +</p> + +<p> +“A little drop of spirits, master, if it’s all the same,” replied Blathers. +“It’s a cold ride from London, ma’am; and I always find that spirits comes home +warmer to the feelings.” +</p> + +<p> +This interesting communication was addressed to Mrs. Maylie, who received it +very graciously. While it was being conveyed to her, the doctor slipped out of +the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Mr. Blathers: not holding his wine-glass by the stem, but grasping +the bottom between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand: and placing it in +front of his chest; “I have seen a good many pieces of business like this, in +my time, ladies.” +</p> + +<p> +“That crack down in the back lane at Edmonton, Blathers,” said Mr. Duff, +assisting his colleague’s memory. +</p> + +<p> +“That was something in this way, warn’t it?” rejoined Mr. Blathers; “that was +done by Conkey Chickweed, that was.” +</p> + +<p> +“You always gave that to him” replied Duff. “It was the Family Pet, I tell you. +Conkey hadn’t any more to do with it than I had.” +</p> + +<p> +“Get out!” retorted Mr. Blathers; “I know better. Do you mind that time when +Conkey was robbed of his money, though? What a start that was! Better than any +novel-book <i>I</i> ever see!” +</p> + +<p> +“What was that?” inquired Rose: anxious to encourage any symptoms of +good-humour in the unwelcome visitors. +</p> + +<p> +“It was a robbery, miss, that hardly anybody would have been down upon,” said +Blathers. “This here Conkey Chickweed—” +</p> + +<p> +“Conkey means Nosey, ma’am,” interposed Duff. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course the lady knows that, don’t she?” demanded Mr. Blathers. “Always +interrupting, you are, partner! This here Conkey Chickweed, miss, kept a +public-house over Battlebridge way, and he had a cellar, where a good many +young lords went to see cock-fighting, and badger-drawing, and that; and a wery +intellectual manner the sports was conducted in, for I’ve seen ’em off’en. He +warn’t one of the family, at that time; and one night he was robbed of three +hundred and twenty-seven guineas in a canvas bag, that was stole out of his +bedroom in the dead of night, by a tall man with a black patch over his eye, +who had concealed himself under the bed, and after committing the robbery, +jumped slap out of window: which was only a story high. He was wery quick about +it. But Conkey was quick, too; for he fired a blunderbuss arter him, and roused +the neighbourhood. They set up a hue-and-cry, directly, and when they came to +look about ’em, found that Conkey had hit the robber; for there was traces of +blood, all the way to some palings a good distance off; and there they lost +’em. However, he had made off with the blunt; and, consequently, the name of +Mr. Chickweed, licensed witler, appeared in the Gazette among the other +bankrupts; and all manner of benefits and subscriptions, and I don’t know what +all, was got up for the poor man, who was in a wery low state of mind about his +loss, and went up and down the streets, for three or four days, a pulling his +hair off in such a desperate manner that many people was afraid he might be +going to make away with himself. One day he came up to the office, all in a +hurry, and had a private interview with the magistrate, who, after a deal of +talk, rings the bell, and orders Jem Spyers in (Jem was a active officer), and +tells him to go and assist Mr. Chickweed in apprehending the man as robbed his +house. ‘I see him, Spyers,’ said Chickweed, ‘pass my house yesterday morning,’ +‘Why didn’t you up, and collar him!’ says Spyers. ‘I was so struck all of a +heap, that you might have fractured my skull with a toothpick,’ says the poor +man; ‘but we’re sure to have him; for between ten and eleven o’clock at night +he passed again.’ Spyers no sooner heard this, than he put some clean linen and +a comb, in his pocket, in case he should have to stop a day or two; and away he +goes, and sets himself down at one of the public-house windows behind the +little red curtain, with his hat on, all ready to bolt out, at a moment’s +notice. He was smoking his pipe here, late at night, when all of a sudden +Chickweed roars out, ‘Here he is! Stop thief! Murder!’ Jem Spyers dashes out; +and there he sees Chickweed, a-tearing down the street full cry. Away goes +Spyers; on goes Chickweed; round turns the people; everybody roars out, +‘Thieves!’ and Chickweed himself keeps on shouting, all the time, like mad. +Spyers loses sight of him a minute as he turns a corner; shoots round; sees a +little crowd; dives in; ‘Which is the man?’ ‘D—me!’ says Chickweed, ‘I’ve lost +him again!’ It was a remarkable occurrence, but he warn’t to be seen nowhere, +so they went back to the public-house. Next morning, Spyers took his old place, +and looked out, from behind the curtain, for a tall man with a black patch over +his eye, till his own two eyes ached again. At last, he couldn’t help shutting +’em, to ease ’em a minute; and the very moment he did so, he hears Chickweed +a-roaring out, ‘Here he is!’ Off he starts once more, with Chickweed half-way +down the street ahead of him; and after twice as long a run as the yesterday’s +one, the man’s lost again! This was done, once or twice more, till one-half the +neighbours gave out that Mr. Chickweed had been robbed by the devil, who was +playing tricks with him arterwards; and the other half, that poor Mr. Chickweed +had gone mad with grief.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did Jem Spyers say?” inquired the doctor; who had returned to the room +shortly after the commencement of the story. +</p> + +<p> +“Jem Spyers,” resumed the officer, “for a long time said nothing at all, and +listened to everything without seeming to, which showed he understood his +business. But, one morning, he walked into the bar, and taking out his +snuffbox, says ‘Chickweed, I’ve found out who done this here robbery.’ ‘Have +you?’ said Chickweed. ‘Oh, my dear Spyers, only let me have wengeance, and I +shall die contented! Oh, my dear Spyers, where is the villain!’ ‘Come!’ said +Spyers, offering him a pinch of snuff, ‘none of that gammon! You did it +yourself.’ So he had; and a good bit of money he had made by it, too; and +nobody would never have found it out, if he hadn’t been so precious anxious to +keep up appearances!” said Mr. Blathers, putting down his wine-glass, and +clinking the handcuffs together. +</p> + +<p> +“Very curious, indeed,” observed the doctor. “Now, if you please, you can walk +upstairs.” +</p> + +<p> +“If <i>you</i> please, sir,” returned Mr. Blathers. Closely following Mr. +Losberne, the two officers ascended to Oliver’s bedroom; Mr. Giles preceding +the party, with a lighted candle. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver had been dozing; but looked worse, and was more feverish than he had +appeared yet. Being assisted by the doctor, he managed to sit up in bed for a +minute or so; and looked at the strangers without at all understanding what was +going forward—in fact, without seeming to recollect where he was, or what had +been passing. +</p> + +<p> +“This,” said Mr. Losberne, speaking softly, but with great vehemence +notwithstanding, “this is the lad, who, being accidently wounded by a +spring-gun in some boyish trespass on Mr. What-d’ ye-call-him’s grounds, at the +back here, comes to the house for assistance this morning, and is immediately +laid hold of and maltreated, by that ingenious gentleman with the candle in his +hand: who has placed his life in considerable danger, as I can professionally +certify.” +</p> + +<p> +Messrs. Blathers and Duff looked at Mr. Giles, as he was thus recommended to +their notice. The bewildered butler gazed from them towards Oliver, and from +Oliver towards Mr. Losberne, with a most ludicrous mixture of fear and +perplexity. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean to deny that, I suppose?” said the doctor, laying Oliver gently +down again. +</p> + +<p> +“It was all done for the—for the best, sir,” answered Giles. “I am sure I +thought it was the boy, or I wouldn’t have meddled with him. I am not of an +inhuman disposition, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thought it was what boy?” inquired the senior officer. +</p> + +<p> +“The housebreaker’s boy, sir!” replied Giles. “They—they certainly had a boy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well? Do you think so now?” inquired Blathers. +</p> + +<p> +“Think what, now?” replied Giles, looking vacantly at his questioner. +</p> + +<p> +“Think it’s the same boy, Stupid-head?” rejoined Blathers, impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know; I really don’t know,” said Giles, with a rueful countenance. “I +couldn’t swear to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you think?” asked Mr. Blathers. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what to think,” replied poor Giles. “I don’t think it is the boy; +indeed, I’m almost certain that it isn’t. You know it can’t be.” +</p> + +<p> +“Has this man been a-drinking, sir?” inquired Blathers, turning to the doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“What a precious muddle-headed chap you are!” said Duff, addressing Mr. Giles, +with supreme contempt. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Losberne had been feeling the patient’s pulse during this short dialogue; +but he now rose from the chair by the bedside, and remarked, that if the +officers had any doubts upon the subject, they would perhaps like to step into +the next room, and have Brittles before them. +</p> + +<p> +Acting upon this suggestion, they adjourned to a neighbouring apartment, where +Mr. Brittles, being called in, involved himself and his respected superior in +such a wonderful maze of fresh contradictions and impossibilities, as tended to +throw no particular light on anything, but the fact of his own strong +mystification; except, indeed, his declarations that he shouldn’t know the real +boy, if he were put before him that instant; that he had only taken Oliver to +be he, because Mr. Giles had said he was; and that Mr. Giles had, five minutes +previously, admitted in the kitchen, that he began to be very much afraid he +had been a little too hasty. +</p> + +<p> +Among other ingenious surmises, the question was then raised, whether Mr. Giles +had really hit anybody; and upon examination of the fellow pistol to that which +he had fired, it turned out to have no more destructive loading than gunpowder +and brown paper: a discovery which made a considerable impression on everybody +but the doctor, who had drawn the ball about ten minutes before. Upon no one, +however, did it make a greater impression than on Mr. Giles himself; who, after +labouring, for some hours, under the fear of having mortally wounded a +fellow-creature, eagerly caught at this new idea, and favoured it to the +utmost. Finally, the officers, without troubling themselves very much about +Oliver, left the Chertsey constable in the house, and took up their rest for +that night in the town; promising to return the next morning. +</p> + +<p> +With the next morning, there came a rumour, that two men and a boy were in the +cage at Kingston, who had been apprehended over night under suspicious +circumstances; and to Kingston Messrs. Blathers and Duff journeyed accordingly. +The suspicious circumstances, however, resolving themselves, on investigation, +into the one fact, that they had been discovered sleeping under a haystack; +which, although a great crime, is only punishable by imprisonment, and is, in +the merciful eye of the English law, and its comprehensive love of all the +King’s subjects, held to be no satisfactory proof, in the absence of all other +evidence, that the sleeper, or sleepers, have committed burglary accompanied +with violence, and have therefore rendered themselves liable to the punishment +of death; Messrs. Blathers and Duff came back again, as wise as they went. +</p> + +<p> +In short, after some more examination, and a great deal more conversation, a +neighbouring magistrate was readily induced to take the joint bail of Mrs. +Maylie and Mr. Losberne for Oliver’s appearance if he should ever be called +upon; and Blathers and Duff, being rewarded with a couple of guineas, returned +to town with divided opinions on the subject of their expedition: the latter +gentleman on a mature consideration of all the circumstances, inclining to the +belief that the burglarious attempt had originated with the Family Pet; and the +former being equally disposed to concede the full merit of it to the great Mr. +Conkey Chickweed. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, Oliver gradually throve and prospered under the united care of Mrs. +Maylie, Rose, and the kind-hearted Mr. Losberne. If fervent prayers, gushing +from hearts overcharged with gratitude, be heard in heaven—and if they be not, +what prayers are!—the blessings which the orphan child called down upon them, +sunk into their souls, diffusing peace and happiness. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap32"></a> CHAPTER XXXII.<br/> +OF THE HAPPY LIFE OLIVER BEGAN TO LEAD WITH HIS KIND FRIENDS</h2> + +<p> +Oliver’s ailings were neither slight nor few. In addition to the pain and delay +attendant on a broken limb, his exposure to the wet and cold had brought on +fever and ague: which hung about him for many weeks, and reduced him sadly. +But, at length, he began, by slow degrees, to get better, and to be able to say +sometimes, in a few tearful words, how deeply he felt the goodness of the two +sweet ladies, and how ardently he hoped that when he grew strong and well +again, he could do something to show his gratitude; only something, which would +let them see the love and duty with which his breast was full; something, +however slight, which would prove to them that their gentle kindness had not +been cast away; but that the poor boy whom their charity had rescued from +misery, or death, was eager to serve them with his whole heart and soul. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor fellow!” said Rose, when Oliver had been one day feebly endeavouring to +utter the words of thankfulness that rose to his pale lips; “you shall have +many opportunities of serving us, if you will. We are going into the country, +and my aunt intends that you shall accompany us. The quiet place, the pure air, +and all the pleasure and beauties of spring, will restore you in a few days. We +will employ you in a hundred ways, when you can bear the trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +“The trouble!” cried Oliver. “Oh! dear lady, if I could but work for you; if I +could only give you pleasure by watering your flowers, or watching your birds, +or running up and down the whole day long, to make you happy; what would I give +to do it!” +</p> + +<p> +“You shall give nothing at all,” said Miss Maylie, smiling; “for, as I told you +before, we shall employ you in a hundred ways; and if you only take half the +trouble to please us, that you promise now, you will make me very happy +indeed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Happy, ma’am!” cried Oliver; “how kind of you to say so!” +</p> + +<p> +“You will make me happier than I can tell you,” replied the young lady. “To +think that my dear good aunt should have been the means of rescuing any one +from such sad misery as you have described to us, would be an unspeakable +pleasure to me; but to know that the object of her goodness and compassion was +sincerely grateful and attached, in consequence, would delight me, more than +you can well imagine. Do you understand me?” she inquired, watching Oliver’s +thoughtful face. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes, ma’am, yes!” replied Oliver eagerly; “but I was thinking that I am +ungrateful now.” +</p> + +<p> +“To whom?” inquired the young lady. +</p> + +<p> +“To the kind gentleman, and the dear old nurse, who took so much care of me +before,” rejoined Oliver. “If they knew how happy I am, they would be pleased, +I am sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sure they would,” rejoined Oliver’s benefactress; “and Mr. Losberne has +already been kind enough to promise that when you are well enough to bear the +journey, he will carry you to see them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Has he, ma’am?” cried Oliver, his face brightening with pleasure. “I don’t +know what I shall do for joy when I see their kind faces once again!” +</p> + +<p> +In a short time Oliver was sufficiently recovered to undergo the fatigue of +this expedition. One morning he and Mr. Losberne set out, accordingly, in a +little carriage which belonged to Mrs. Maylie. When they came to Chertsey +Bridge, Oliver turned very pale, and uttered a loud exclamation. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter with the boy?” cried the doctor, as usual, all in a bustle. +“Do you see anything—hear anything—feel anything—eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“That, sir,” cried Oliver, pointing out of the carriage window. “That house!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; well, what of it? Stop coachman. Pull up here,” cried the doctor. “What +of the house, my man; eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“The thieves—the house they took me to!” whispered Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“The devil it is!” cried the doctor. “Hallo, there! let me out!” +</p> + +<p> +But, before the coachman could dismount from his box, he had tumbled out of the +coach, by some means or other; and, running down to the deserted tenement, +began kicking at the door like a madman. +</p> + +<p> +“Halloa?” said a little ugly hump-backed man: opening the door so suddenly, +that the doctor, from the very impetus of his last kick, nearly fell forward +into the passage. “What’s the matter here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Matter!” exclaimed the other, collaring him, without a moment’s reflection. “A +good deal. Robbery is the matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’ll be Murder the matter, too,” replied the hump-backed man, coolly, “if +you don’t take your hands off. Do you hear me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I hear you,” said the doctor, giving his captive a hearty shake. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s—confound the fellow, what’s his rascally name—Sikes; that’s it. +Where’s Sikes, you thief?” +</p> + +<p> +The hump-backed man stared, as if in excess of amazement and indignation; then, +twisting himself, dexterously, from the doctor’s grasp, growled forth a volley +of horrid oaths, and retired into the house. Before he could shut the door, +however, the doctor had passed into the parlour, without a word of parley. +</p> + +<p> +He looked anxiously round; not an article of furniture; not a vestige of +anything, animate or inanimate; not even the position of the cupboards; +answered Oliver’s description! +</p> + +<p> +“Now!” said the hump-backed man, who had watched him keenly, “what do you mean +by coming into my house, in this violent way? Do you want to rob me, or to +murder me? Which is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever know a man come out to do either, in a chariot and pair, you +ridiculous old vampire?” said the irritable doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you want, then?” demanded the hunchback. “Will you take yourself off, +before I do you a mischief? Curse you!” +</p> + +<p> +“As soon as I think proper,” said Mr. Losberne, looking into the other parlour; +which, like the first, bore no resemblance whatever to Oliver’s account of it. +“I shall find you out, some day, my friend.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you?” sneered the ill-favoured cripple. “If you ever want me, I’m here. I +haven’t lived here mad and all alone, for five-and-twenty years, to be scared +by you. You shall pay for this; you shall pay for this.” And so saying, the +mis-shapen little demon set up a yell, and danced upon the ground, as if wild +with rage. +</p> + +<p> +“Stupid enough, this,” muttered the doctor to himself; “the boy must have made +a mistake. Here! Put that in your pocket, and shut yourself up again.” With +these words he flung the hunchback a piece of money, and returned to the +carriage. +</p> + +<p> +The man followed to the chariot door, uttering the wildest imprecations and +curses all the way; but as Mr. Losberne turned to speak to the driver, he +looked into the carriage, and eyed Oliver for an instant with a glance so sharp +and fierce and at the same time so furious and vindictive, that, waking or +sleeping, he could not forget it for months afterwards. He continued to utter +the most fearful imprecations, until the driver had resumed his seat; and when +they were once more on their way, they could see him some distance behind: +beating his feet upon the ground, and tearing his hair, in transports of real +or pretended rage. +</p> + +<p> +“I am an ass!” said the doctor, after a long silence. “Did you know that +before, Oliver?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then don’t forget it another time.” +</p> + +<p> +“An ass,” said the doctor again, after a further silence of some minutes. “Even +if it had been the right place, and the right fellows had been there, what +could I have done, single-handed? And if I had had assistance, I see no good +that I should have done, except leading to my own exposure, and an unavoidable +statement of the manner in which I have hushed up this business. That would +have served me right, though. I am always involving myself in some scrape or +other, by acting on impulse. It might have done me good.” +</p> + +<p> +Now, the fact was that the excellent doctor had never acted upon anything but +impulse all through his life, and it was no bad compliment to the nature of the +impulses which governed him, that so far from being involved in any peculiar +troubles or misfortunes, he had the warmest respect and esteem of all who knew +him. If the truth must be told, he was a little out of temper, for a minute or +two, at being disappointed in procuring corroborative evidence of Oliver’s +story on the very first occasion on which he had a chance of obtaining any. He +soon came round again, however; and finding that Oliver’s replies to his +questions, were still as straightforward and consistent, and still delivered +with as much apparent sincerity and truth, as they had ever been, he made up +his mind to attach full credence to them, from that time forth. +</p> + +<p> +As Oliver knew the name of the street in which Mr. Brownlow resided, they were +enabled to drive straight thither. When the coach turned into it, his heart +beat so violently, that he could scarcely draw his breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, my boy, which house is it?” inquired Mr. Losberne. +</p> + +<p> +“That! That!” replied Oliver, pointing eagerly out of the window. “The white +house. Oh! make haste! Pray make haste! I feel as if I should die: it makes me +tremble so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, come!” said the good doctor, patting him on the shoulder. “You will see +them directly, and they will be overjoyed to find you safe and well.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I hope so!” cried Oliver. “They were so good to me; so very, very good to +me.” +</p> + +<p> +The coach rolled on. It stopped. No; that was the wrong house; the next door. +It went on a few paces, and stopped again. Oliver looked up at the windows, +with tears of happy expectation coursing down his face. +</p> + +<p> +Alas! the white house was empty, and there was a bill in the window. “To Let.” +</p> + +<p> +“Knock at the next door,” cried Mr. Losberne, taking Oliver’s arm in his. “What +has become of Mr. Brownlow, who used to live in the adjoining house, do you +know?” +</p> + +<p> +The servant did not know; but would go and inquire. She presently returned, and +said, that Mr. Brownlow had sold off his goods, and gone to the West Indies, +six weeks before. Oliver clasped his hands, and sank feebly backward. +</p> + +<p> +“Has his housekeeper gone too?” inquired Mr. Losberne, after a moment’s pause. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir”; replied the servant. “The old gentleman, the housekeeper, and a +gentleman who was a friend of Mr. Brownlow’s, all went together.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then turn towards home again,” said Mr. Losberne to the driver; “and don’t +stop to bait the horses, till you get out of this confounded London!” +</p> + +<p> +“The book-stall keeper, sir?” said Oliver. “I know the way there. See him, +pray, sir! Do see him!” +</p> + +<p> +“My poor boy, this is disappointment enough for one day,” said the doctor. +“Quite enough for both of us. If we go to the book-stall keeper’s, we shall +certainly find that he is dead, or has set his house on fire, or run away. No; +home again straight!” And in obedience to the doctor’s impulse, home they went. +</p> + +<p> +This bitter disappointment caused Oliver much sorrow and grief, even in the +midst of his happiness; for he had pleased himself, many times during his +illness, with thinking of all that Mr. Brownlow and Mrs. Bedwin would say to +him: and what delight it would be to tell them how many long days and nights he +had passed in reflecting on what they had done for him, and in bewailing his +cruel separation from them. The hope of eventually clearing himself with them, +too, and explaining how he had been forced away, had buoyed him up, and +sustained him, under many of his recent trials; and now, the idea that they +should have gone so far, and carried with them the belief that he was an +impostor and a robber—a belief which might remain uncontradicted to his dying +day—was almost more than he could bear. +</p> + +<p> +The circumstance occasioned no alteration, however, in the behaviour of his +benefactors. After another fortnight, when the fine warm weather had fairly +begun, and every tree and flower was putting forth its young leaves and rich +blossoms, they made preparations for quitting the house at Chertsey, for some +months. +</p> + +<p> +Sending the plate, which had so excited Fagin’s cupidity, to the banker’s; and +leaving Giles and another servant in care of the house, they departed to a +cottage at some distance in the country, and took Oliver with them. +</p> + +<p> +Who can describe the pleasure and delight, the peace of mind and soft +tranquillity, the sickly boy felt in the balmy air, and among the green hills +and rich woods, of an inland village! Who can tell how scenes of peace and +quietude sink into the minds of pain-worn dwellers in close and noisy places, +and carry their own freshness, deep into their jaded hearts! Men who have lived +in crowded, pent-up streets, through lives of toil, and who have never wished +for change; men, to whom custom has indeed been second nature, and who have +come almost to love each brick and stone that formed the narrow boundaries of +their daily walks; even they, with the hand of death upon them, have been known +to yearn at last for one short glimpse of Nature’s face; and, carried far from +the scenes of their old pains and pleasures, have seemed to pass at once into a +new state of being. Crawling forth, from day to day, to some green sunny spot, +they have had such memories wakened up within them by the sight of the sky, and +hill and plain, and glistening water, that a foretaste of heaven itself has +soothed their quick decline, and they have sunk into their tombs, as peacefully +as the sun whose setting they watched from their lonely chamber window but a +few hours before, faded from their dim and feeble sight! The memories which +peaceful country scenes call up, are not of this world, nor of its thoughts and +hopes. Their gentle influence may teach us how to weave fresh garlands for the +graves of those we loved: may purify our thoughts, and bear down before it old +enmity and hatred; but beneath all this, there lingers, in the least reflective +mind, a vague and half-formed consciousness of having held such feelings long +before, in some remote and distant time, which calls up solemn thoughts of +distant times to come, and bends down pride and worldliness beneath it. +</p> + +<p> +It was a lovely spot to which they repaired. Oliver, whose days had been spent +among squalid crowds, and in the midst of noise and brawling, seemed to enter +on a new existence there. The rose and honeysuckle clung to the cottage walls; +the ivy crept round the trunks of the trees; and the garden-flowers perfumed +the air with delicious odours. Hard by, was a little churchyard; not crowded +with tall unsightly gravestones, but full of humble mounds, covered with fresh +turf and moss: beneath which, the old people of the village lay at rest. Oliver +often wandered here; and, thinking of the wretched grave in which his mother +lay, would sometimes sit him down and sob unseen; but, when he raised his eyes +to the deep sky overhead, he would cease to think of her as lying in the +ground, and would weep for her, sadly, but without pain. +</p> + +<p> +It was a happy time. The days were peaceful and serene; the nights brought with +them neither fear nor care; no languishing in a wretched prison, or associating +with wretched men; nothing but pleasant and happy thoughts. Every morning he +went to a white-headed old gentleman, who lived near the little church: who +taught him to read better, and to write: and who spoke so kindly, and took such +pains, that Oliver could never try enough to please him. Then, he would walk +with Mrs. Maylie and Rose, and hear them talk of books; or perhaps sit near +them, in some shady place, and listen whilst the young lady read: which he +could have done, until it grew too dark to see the letters. Then, he had his +own lesson for the next day to prepare; and at this, he would work hard, in a +little room which looked into the garden, till evening came slowly on, when the +ladies would walk out again, and he with them: listening with such pleasure to +all they said: and so happy if they wanted a flower that he could climb to +reach, or had forgotten anything he could run to fetch: that he could never be +quick enough about it. When it became quite dark, and they returned home, the +young lady would sit down to the piano, and play some pleasant air, or sing, in +a low and gentle voice, some old song which it pleased her aunt to hear. There +would be no candles lighted at such times as these; and Oliver would sit by one +of the windows, listening to the sweet music, in a perfect rapture. +</p> + +<p> +And when Sunday came, how differently the day was spent, from any way in which +he had ever spent it yet! and how happily too; like all the other days in that +most happy time! There was the little church, in the morning, with the green +leaves fluttering at the windows: the birds singing without: and the +sweet-smelling air stealing in at the low porch, and filling the homely +building with its fragrance. The poor people were so neat and clean, and knelt +so reverently in prayer, that it seemed a pleasure, not a tedious duty, their +assembling there together; and though the singing might be rude, it was real, +and sounded more musical (to Oliver’s ears at least) than any he had ever heard +in church before. Then, there were the walks as usual, and many calls at the +clean houses of the labouring men; and at night, Oliver read a chapter or two +from the Bible, which he had been studying all the week, and in the performance +of which duty he felt more proud and pleased, than if he had been the clergyman +himself. +</p> + +<p> +In the morning, Oliver would be a-foot by six o’clock, roaming the fields, and +plundering the hedges, far and wide, for nosegays of wild flowers, with which +he would return laden, home; and which it took great care and consideration to +arrange, to the best advantage, for the embellishment of the breakfast-table. +There was fresh groundsel, too, for Miss Maylie’s birds, with which Oliver, who +had been studying the subject under the able tuition of the village clerk, +would decorate the cages, in the most approved taste. When the birds were made +all spruce and smart for the day, there was usually some little commission of +charity to execute in the village; or, failing that, there was rare +cricket-playing, sometimes, on the green; or, failing that, there was always +something to do in the garden, or about the plants, to which Oliver (who had +studied this science also, under the same master, who was a gardener by trade,) +applied himself with hearty good-will, until Miss Rose made her appearance: +when there were a thousand commendations to be bestowed on all he had done. +</p> + +<p> +So three months glided away; three months which, in the life of the most +blessed and favoured of mortals, might have been unmingled happiness, and +which, in Oliver’s were true felicity. With the purest and most amiable +generosity on one side; and the truest, warmest, soul-felt gratitude on the +other; it is no wonder that, by the end of that short time, Oliver Twist had +become completely domesticated with the old lady and her niece, and that the +fervent attachment of his young and sensitive heart, was repaid by their pride +in, and attachment to, himself. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap33"></a> CHAPTER XXXIII.<br/> +WHEREIN THE HAPPINESS OF OLIVER AND HIS FRIENDS, EXPERIENCES A SUDDEN +CHECK</h2> + +<p> +Spring flew swiftly by, and summer came. If the village had been beautiful at +first it was now in the full glow and luxuriance of its richness. The great +trees, which had looked shrunken and bare in the earlier months, had now burst +into strong life and health; and stretching forth their green arms over the +thirsty ground, converted open and naked spots into choice nooks, where was a +deep and pleasant shade from which to look upon the wide prospect, steeped in +sunshine, which lay stretched beyond. The earth had donned her mantle of +brightest green; and shed her richest perfumes abroad. It was the prime and +vigour of the year; all things were glad and flourishing. +</p> + +<p> +Still, the same quiet life went on at the little cottage, and the same cheerful +serenity prevailed among its inmates. Oliver had long since grown stout and +healthy; but health or sickness made no difference in his warm feelings of a +great many people. He was still the same gentle, attached, affectionate +creature that he had been when pain and suffering had wasted his strength, and +when he was dependent for every slight attention, and comfort on those who +tended him. +</p> + +<p> +One beautiful night, when they had taken a longer walk than was customary with +them: for the day had been unusually warm, and there was a brilliant moon, and +a light wind had sprung up, which was unusually refreshing. Rose had been in +high spirits, too, and they had walked on, in merry conversation, until they +had far exceeded their ordinary bounds. Mrs. Maylie being fatigued, they +returned more slowly home. The young lady merely throwing off her simple +bonnet, sat down to the piano as usual. After running abstractedly over the +keys for a few minutes, she fell into a low and very solemn air; and as she +played it, they heard a sound as if she were weeping. +</p> + +<p> +“Rose, my dear!” said the elder lady. +</p> + +<p> +Rose made no reply, but played a little quicker, as though the words had roused +her from some painful thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +“Rose, my love!” cried Mrs. Maylie, rising hastily, and bending over her. “What +is this? In tears! My dear child, what distresses you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing, aunt; nothing,” replied the young lady. “I don’t know what it is; I +can’t describe it; but I feel—” +</p> + +<p> +“Not ill, my love?” interposed Mrs. Maylie. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no! Oh, not ill!” replied Rose: shuddering as though some deadly chillness +were passing over her, while she spoke; “I shall be better presently. Close the +window, pray!” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver hastened to comply with her request. The young lady, making an effort to +recover her cheerfulness, strove to play some livelier tune; but her fingers +dropped powerless over the keys. Covering her face with her hands, she sank +upon a sofa, and gave vent to the tears which she was now unable to repress. +</p> + +<p> +“My child!” said the elderly lady, folding her arms about her, “I never saw you +so before.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would not alarm you if I could avoid it,” rejoined Rose; “but indeed I have +tried very hard, and cannot help this. I fear I <i>am</i> ill, aunt.” +</p> + +<p> +She was, indeed; for, when candles were brought, they saw that in the very +short time which had elapsed since their return home, the hue of her +countenance had changed to a marble whiteness. Its expression had lost nothing +of its beauty; but it was changed; and there was an anxious haggard look about +the gentle face, which it had never worn before. Another minute, and it was +suffused with a crimson flush: and a heavy wildness came over the soft blue +eye. Again this disappeared, like the shadow thrown by a passing cloud; and she +was once more deadly pale. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver, who watched the old lady anxiously, observed that she was alarmed by +these appearances; and so in truth, was he; but seeing that she affected to +make light of them, he endeavoured to do the same, and they so far succeeded, +that when Rose was persuaded by her aunt to retire for the night, she was in +better spirits; and appeared even in better health: assuring them that she felt +certain she should rise in the morning, quite well. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope,” said Oliver, when Mrs. Maylie returned, “that nothing is the matter? +She don’t look well tonight, but—” +</p> + +<p> +The old lady motioned to him not to speak; and sitting herself down in a dark +corner of the room, remained silent for some time. At length, she said, in a +trembling voice: +</p> + +<p> +“I hope not, Oliver. I have been very happy with her for some years: too happy, +perhaps. It may be time that I should meet with some misfortune; but I hope it +is not this.” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” inquired Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“The heavy blow,” said the old lady, “of losing the dear girl who has so long +been my comfort and happiness.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! God forbid!” exclaimed Oliver, hastily. +</p> + +<p> +“Amen to that, my child!” said the old lady, wringing her hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely there is no danger of anything so dreadful?” said Oliver. “Two hours +ago, she was quite well.” +</p> + +<p> +“She is very ill now,” rejoined Mrs. Maylie; “and will be worse, I am sure. My +dear, dear Rose! Oh, what shall I do without her!” +</p> + +<p> +She gave way to such great grief, that Oliver, suppressing his own emotion, +ventured to remonstrate with her; and to beg, earnestly, that, for the sake of +the dear young lady herself, she would be more calm. +</p> + +<p> +“And consider, ma’am,” said Oliver, as the tears forced themselves into his +eyes, despite of his efforts to the contrary. “Oh! consider how young and good +she is, and what pleasure and comfort she gives to all about her. I am +sure—certain—quite certain—that, for your sake, who are so good yourself; and +for her own; and for the sake of all she makes so happy; she will not die. +Heaven will never let her die so young.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush!” said Mrs. Maylie, laying her hand on Oliver’s head. “You think like a +child, poor boy. But you teach me my duty, notwithstanding. I had forgotten it +for a moment, Oliver, but I hope I may be pardoned, for I am old, and have seen +enough of illness and death to know the agony of separation from the objects of +our love. I have seen enough, too, to know that it is not always the youngest +and best who are spared to those that love them; but this should give us +comfort in our sorrow; for Heaven is just; and such things teach us, +impressively, that there is a brighter world than this; and that the passage to +it is speedy. God’s will be done! I love her; and He knows how well!” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver was surprised to see that as Mrs. Maylie said these words, she checked +her lamentations as though by one effort; and drawing herself up as she spoke, +became composed and firm. He was still more astonished to find that this +firmness lasted; and that, under all the care and watching which ensued, Mrs. +Maylie was ever ready and collected: performing all the duties which had +devolved upon her, steadily, and, to all external appearances, even cheerfully. +But he was young, and did not know what strong minds are capable of, under +trying circumstances. How should he, when their possessors so seldom know +themselves? +</p> + +<p> +An anxious night ensued. When morning came, Mrs. Maylie’s predictions were but +too well verified. Rose was in the first stage of a high and dangerous fever. +</p> + +<p> +“We must be active, Oliver, and not give way to useless grief,” said Mrs. +Maylie, laying her finger on her lip, as she looked steadily into his face; +“this letter must be sent, with all possible expedition, to Mr. Losberne. It +must be carried to the market-town: which is not more than four miles off, by +the footpath across the field: and thence dispatched, by an express on +horseback, straight to Chertsey. The people at the inn will undertake to do +this: and I can trust to you to see it done, I know.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver could make no reply, but looked his anxiety to be gone at once. +</p> + +<p> +“Here is another letter,” said Mrs. Maylie, pausing to reflect; “but whether to +send it now, or wait until I see how Rose goes on, I scarcely know. I would not +forward it, unless I feared the worst.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it for Chertsey, too, ma’am?” inquired Oliver; impatient to execute his +commission, and holding out his trembling hand for the letter. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied the old lady, giving it to him mechanically. Oliver glanced at +it, and saw that it was directed to Harry Maylie, Esquire, at some great lord’s +house in the country; where, he could not make out. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall it go, ma’am?” asked Oliver, looking up, impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +“I think not,” replied Mrs. Maylie, taking it back. “I will wait until +tomorrow.” +</p> + +<p> +With these words, she gave Oliver her purse, and he started off, without more +delay, at the greatest speed he could muster. +</p> + +<p> +Swiftly he ran across the fields, and down the little lanes which sometimes +divided them: now almost hidden by the high corn on either side, and now +emerging on an open field, where the mowers and haymakers were busy at their +work: nor did he stop once, save now and then, for a few seconds, to recover +breath, until he came, in a great heat, and covered with dust, on the little +market-place of the market-town. +</p> + +<p> +Here he paused, and looked about for the inn. There were a white bank, and a +red brewery, and a yellow town-hall; and in one corner there was a large house, +with all the wood about it painted green: before which was the sign of “The +George.” To this he hastened, as soon as it caught his eye. +</p> + +<p> +He spoke to a postboy who was dozing under the gateway; and who, after hearing +what he wanted, referred him to the ostler; who after hearing all he had to say +again, referred him to the landlord; who was a tall gentleman in a blue +neckcloth, a white hat, drab breeches, and boots with tops to match, leaning +against a pump by the stable-door, picking his teeth with a silver toothpick. +</p> + +<p> +This gentleman walked with much deliberation into the bar to make out the bill: +which took a long time making out: and after it was ready, and paid, a horse +had to be saddled, and a man to be dressed, which took up ten good minutes +more. Meanwhile Oliver was in such a desperate state of impatience and anxiety, +that he felt as if he could have jumped upon the horse himself, and galloped +away, full tear, to the next stage. At length, all was ready; and the little +parcel having been handed up, with many injunctions and entreaties for its +speedy delivery, the man set spurs to his horse, and rattling over the uneven +paving of the market-place, was out of the town, and galloping along the +turnpike-road, in a couple of minutes. +</p> + +<p> +As it was something to feel certain that assistance was sent for, and that no +time had been lost, Oliver hurried up the inn-yard, with a somewhat lighter +heart. He was turning out of the gateway when he accidently stumbled against a +tall man wrapped in a cloak, who was at that moment coming out of the inn door. +</p> + +<p> +“Hah!” cried the man, fixing his eyes on Oliver, and suddenly recoiling. “What +the devil’s this?” +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Oliver; “I was in a great hurry to get home, and +didn’t see you were coming.” +</p> + +<p> +“Death!” muttered the man to himself, glaring at the boy with his large dark +eyes. “Who would have thought it! Grind him to ashes! He’d start up from a +stone coffin, to come in my way!” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry,” stammered Oliver, confused by the strange man’s wild look. “I +hope I have not hurt you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Rot you!” murmured the man, in a horrible passion; between his clenched teeth; +“if I had only had the courage to say the word, I might have been free of you +in a night. Curses on your head, and black death on your heart, you imp! What +are you doing here?” +</p> + +<p> +The man shook his fist, as he uttered these words incoherently. He advanced +towards Oliver, as if with the intention of aiming a blow at him, but fell +violently on the ground: writhing and foaming, in a fit. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver gazed, for a moment, at the struggles of the madman (for such he +supposed him to be); and then darted into the house for help. Having seen him +safely carried into the hotel, he turned his face homewards, running as fast as +he could, to make up for lost time: and recalling with a great deal of +astonishment and some fear, the extraordinary behaviour of the person from whom +he had just parted. +</p> + +<p> +The circumstance did not dwell in his recollection long, however: for when he +reached the cottage, there was enough to occupy his mind, and to drive all +considerations of self completely from his memory. +</p> + +<p> +Rose Maylie had rapidly grown worse; before mid-night she was delirious. A +medical practitioner, who resided on the spot, was in constant attendance upon +her; and after first seeing the patient, he had taken Mrs. Maylie aside, and +pronounced her disorder to be one of a most alarming nature. “In fact,” he +said, “it would be little short of a miracle, if she recovered.” +</p> + +<p> +How often did Oliver start from his bed that night, and stealing out, with +noiseless footstep, to the staircase, listen for the slightest sound from the +sick chamber! How often did a tremble shake his frame, and cold drops of terror +start upon his brow, when a sudden trampling of feet caused him to fear that +something too dreadful to think of, had even then occurred! And what had been +the fervency of all the prayers he had ever muttered, compared with those he +poured forth, now, in the agony and passion of his supplication for the life +and health of the gentle creature, who was tottering on the deep grave’s verge! +</p> + +<p> +Oh! the suspense, the fearful, acute suspense, of standing idly by while the +life of one we dearly love, is trembling in the balance! Oh! the racking +thoughts that crowd upon the mind, and make the heart beat violently, and the +breath come thick, by the force of the images they conjure up before it; the +desperate anxiety <i>to be doing something</i> to relieve the pain, or lessen +the danger, which we have no power to alleviate; the sinking of soul and +spirit, which the sad remembrance of our helplessness produces; what tortures +can equal these; what reflections or endeavours can, in the full tide and fever +of the time, allay them! +</p> + +<p> +Morning came; and the little cottage was lonely and still. People spoke in +whispers; anxious faces appeared at the gate, from time to time; women and +children went away in tears. All the livelong day, and for hours after it had +grown dark, Oliver paced softly up and down the garden, raising his eyes every +instant to the sick chamber, and shuddering to see the darkened window, looking +as if death lay stretched inside. Late that night, Mr. Losberne arrived. “It is +hard,” said the good doctor, turning away as he spoke; “so young; so much +beloved; but there is very little hope.” +</p> + +<p> +Another morning. The sun shone brightly; as brightly as if it looked upon no +misery or care; and, with every leaf and flower in full bloom about her; with +life, and health, and sounds and sights of joy, surrounding her on every side: +the fair young creature lay, wasting fast. Oliver crept away to the old +churchyard, and sitting down on one of the green mounds, wept and prayed for +her, in silence. +</p> + +<p> +There was such peace and beauty in the scene; so much of brightness and mirth +in the sunny landscape; such blithesome music in the songs of the summer birds; +such freedom in the rapid flight of the rook, careering overhead; so much of +life and joyousness in all; that, when the boy raised his aching eyes, and +looked about, the thought instinctively occurred to him, that this was not a +time for death; that Rose could surely never die when humbler things were all +so glad and gay; that graves were for cold and cheerless winter: not for +sunlight and fragrance. He almost thought that shrouds were for the old and +shrunken; and that they never wrapped the young and graceful form in their +ghastly folds. +</p> + +<p> +A knell from the church bell broke harshly on these youthful thoughts. Another! +Again! It was tolling for the funeral service. A group of humble mourners +entered the gate: wearing white favours; for the corpse was young. They stood +uncovered by a grave; and there was a mother—a mother once—among the weeping +train. But the sun shone brightly, and the birds sang on. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver turned homeward, thinking on the many kindnesses he had received from +the young lady, and wishing that the time could come again, that he might never +cease showing her how grateful and attached he was. He had no cause for +self-reproach on the score of neglect, or want of thought, for he had been +devoted to her service; and yet a hundred little occasions rose up before him, +on which he fancied he might have been more zealous, and more earnest, and +wished he had been. We need be careful how we deal with those about us, when +every death carries to some small circle of survivors, thoughts of so much +omitted, and so little done—of so many things forgotten, and so many more which +might have been repaired! There is no remorse so deep as that which is +unavailing; if we would be spared its tortures, let us remember this, in time. +</p> + +<p> +When he reached home Mrs. Maylie was sitting in the little parlour. Oliver’s +heart sank at sight of her; for she had never left the bedside of her niece; +and he trembled to think what change could have driven her away. He learnt that +she had fallen into a deep sleep, from which she would waken, either to +recovery and life, or to bid them farewell, and die. +</p> + +<p> +They sat, listening, and afraid to speak, for hours. The untasted meal was +removed, with looks which showed that their thoughts were elsewhere, they +watched the sun as he sank lower and lower, and, at length, cast over sky and +earth those brilliant hues which herald his departure. Their quick ears caught +the sound of an approaching footstep. They both involuntarily darted to the +door, as Mr. Losberne entered. +</p> + +<p> +“What of Rose?” cried the old lady. “Tell me at once! I can bear it; anything +but suspense! Oh, tell me! in the name of Heaven!” +</p> + +<p> +“You must compose yourself,” said the doctor supporting her. “Be calm, my dear +ma’am, pray.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me go, in God’s name! My dear child! She is dead! She is dying!” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” cried the doctor, passionately. “As He is good and merciful, she will +live to bless us all, for years to come.” +</p> + +<p> +The lady fell upon her knees, and tried to fold her hands together; but the +energy which had supported her so long, fled up to Heaven with her first +thanksgiving; and she sank into the friendly arms which were extended to +receive her. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap34"></a> CHAPTER XXXIV.<br/> +CONTAINS SOME INTRODUCTORY PARTICULARS RELATIVE TO A YOUNG GENTLEMAN WHO NOW +ARRIVES UPON THE SCENE; AND A NEW ADVENTURE WHICH HAPPENED TO OLIVER</h2> + +<p> +It was almost too much happiness to bear. Oliver felt stunned and stupefied by +the unexpected intelligence; he could not weep, or speak, or rest. He had +scarcely the power of understanding anything that had passed, until, after a +long ramble in the quiet evening air, a burst of tears came to his relief, and +he seemed to awaken, all at once, to a full sense of the joyful change that had +occurred, and the almost insupportable load of anguish which had been taken +from his breast. +</p> + +<p> +The night was fast closing in, when he returned homeward: laden with flowers +which he had culled, with peculiar care, for the adornment of the sick chamber. +As he walked briskly along the road, he heard behind him, the noise of some +vehicle, approaching at a furious pace. Looking round, he saw that it was a +post-chaise, driven at great speed; and as the horses were galloping, and the +road was narrow, he stood leaning against a gate until it should have passed +him. +</p> + +<p> +As it dashed on, Oliver caught a glimpse of a man in a white nightcap, whose +face seemed familiar to him, although his view was so brief that he could not +identify the person. In another second or two, the nightcap was thrust out of +the chaise-window, and a stentorian voice bellowed to the driver to stop: which +he did, as soon as he could pull up his horses. Then, the nightcap once again +appeared: and the same voice called Oliver by his name. +</p> + +<p> +“Here!” cried the voice. “Oliver, what’s the news? Miss Rose! Master O-li-ver!” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it you, Giles?” cried Oliver, running up to the chaise-door. +</p> + +<p> +Giles popped out his nightcap again, preparatory to making some reply, when he +was suddenly pulled back by a young gentleman who occupied the other corner of +the chaise, and who eagerly demanded what was the news. +</p> + +<p> +“In a word!” cried the gentleman, “Better or worse?” +</p> + +<p> +“Better—much better!” replied Oliver, hastily. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank Heaven!” exclaimed the gentleman. “You are sure?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite, sir,” replied Oliver. “The change took place only a few hours ago; and +Mr. Losberne says, that all danger is at an end.” +</p> + +<p> +The gentleman said not another word, but, opening the chaise-door, leaped out, +and taking Oliver hurriedly by the arm, led him aside. +</p> + +<p> +“You are quite certain? There is no possibility of any mistake on your part, my +boy, is there?” demanded the gentleman in a tremulous voice. “Do not deceive +me, by awakening hopes that are not to be fulfilled.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would not for the world, sir,” replied Oliver. “Indeed you may believe me. +Mr. Losberne’s words were, that she would live to bless us all for many years +to come. I heard him say so.” +</p> + +<p> +The tears stood in Oliver’s eyes as he recalled the scene which was the +beginning of so much happiness; and the gentleman turned his face away, and +remained silent, for some minutes. Oliver thought he heard him sob, more than +once; but he feared to interrupt him by any fresh remark—for he could well +guess what his feelings were—and so stood apart, feigning to be occupied with +his nosegay. +</p> + +<p> +All this time, Mr. Giles, with the white nightcap on, had been sitting on the +steps of the chaise, supporting an elbow on each knee, and wiping his eyes with +a blue cotton pocket-handkerchief dotted with white spots. That the honest +fellow had not been feigning emotion, was abundantly demonstrated by the very +red eyes with which he regarded the young gentleman, when he turned round and +addressed him. +</p> + +<p> +“I think you had better go on to my mother’s in the chaise, Giles,” said he. “I +would rather walk slowly on, so as to gain a little time before I see her. You +can say I am coming.” +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon, Mr. Harry,” said Giles: giving a final polish to his +ruffled countenance with the handkerchief; “but if you would leave the postboy +to say that, I should be very much obliged to you. It wouldn’t be proper for +the maids to see me in this state, sir; I should never have any more authority +with them if they did.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” rejoined Harry Maylie, smiling, “you can do as you like. Let him go on +with the luggage, if you wish it, and do you follow with us. Only first +exchange that nightcap for some more appropriate covering, or we shall be taken +for madmen.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Giles, reminded of his unbecoming costume, snatched off and pocketed his +nightcap; and substituted a hat, of grave and sober shape, which he took out of +the chaise. This done, the postboy drove off; Giles, Mr. Maylie, and Oliver, +followed at their leisure. +</p> + +<p> +As they walked along, Oliver glanced from time to time with much interest and +curiosity at the new comer. He seemed about five-and-twenty years of age, and +was of the middle height; his countenance was frank and handsome; and his +demeanor easy and prepossessing. Notwithstanding the difference between youth +and age, he bore so strong a likeness to the old lady, that Oliver would have +had no great difficulty in imagining their relationship, if he had not already +spoken of her as his mother. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Maylie was anxiously waiting to receive her son when he reached the +cottage. The meeting did not take place without great emotion on both sides. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother!” whispered the young man; “why did you not write before?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did,” replied Mrs. Maylie; “but, on reflection, I determined to keep back +the letter until I had heard Mr. Losberne’s opinion.” +</p> + +<p> +“But why,” said the young man, “why run the chance of that occurring which so +nearly happened? If Rose had—I cannot utter that word now—if this illness had +terminated differently, how could you ever have forgiven yourself! How could I +ever have know happiness again!” +</p> + +<p> +“If that <i>had</i> been the case, Harry,” said Mrs. Maylie, “I fear your +happiness would have been effectually blighted, and that your arrival here, a +day sooner or a day later, would have been of very, very little import.” +</p> + +<p> +“And who can wonder if it be so, mother?” rejoined the young man; “or why +should I say, <i>if?</i>—It is—it is—you know it, mother—you must know it!” +</p> + +<p> +“I know that she deserves the best and purest love the heart of man can offer,” +said Mrs. Maylie; “I know that the devotion and affection of her nature require +no ordinary return, but one that shall be deep and lasting. If I did not feel +this, and know, besides, that a changed behaviour in one she loved would break +her heart, I should not feel my task so difficult of performance, or have to +encounter so many struggles in my own bosom, when I take what seems to me to be +the strict line of duty.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is unkind, mother,” said Harry. “Do you still suppose that I am a boy +ignorant of my own mind, and mistaking the impulses of my own soul?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think, my dear son,” returned Mrs. Maylie, laying her hand upon his +shoulder, “that youth has many generous impulses which do not last; and that +among them are some, which, being gratified, become only the more fleeting. +Above all, I think” said the lady, fixing her eyes on her son’s face, “that if +an enthusiastic, ardent, and ambitious man marry a wife on whose name there is +a stain, which, though it originate in no fault of hers, may be visited by cold +and sordid people upon her, and upon his children also: and, in exact +proportion to his success in the world, be cast in his teeth, and made the +subject of sneers against him: he may, no matter how generous and good his +nature, one day repent of the connection he formed in early life. And she may +have the pain of knowing that he does so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mother,” said the young man, impatiently, “he would be a selfish brute, +unworthy alike of the name of man and of the woman you describe, who acted +thus.” +</p> + +<p> +“You think so now, Harry,” replied his mother. +</p> + +<p> +“And ever will!” said the young man. “The mental agony I have suffered, during +the last two days, wrings from me the avowal to you of a passion which, as you +well know, is not one of yesterday, nor one I have lightly formed. On Rose, +sweet, gentle girl! my heart is set, as firmly as ever heart of man was set on +woman. I have no thought, no view, no hope in life, beyond her; and if you +oppose me in this great stake, you take my peace and happiness in your hands, +and cast them to the wind. Mother, think better of this, and of me, and do not +disregard the happiness of which you seem to think so little.” +</p> + +<p> +“Harry,” said Mrs. Maylie, “it is because I think so much of warm and sensitive +hearts, that I would spare them from being wounded. But we have said enough, +and more than enough, on this matter, just now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let it rest with Rose, then,” interposed Harry. “You will not press these +overstrained opinions of yours, so far, as to throw any obstacle in my way?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will not,” rejoined Mrs. Maylie; “but I would have you consider—” +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>have</i> considered!” was the impatient reply; “Mother, I have +considered, years and years. I have considered, ever since I have been capable +of serious reflection. My feelings remain unchanged, as they ever will; and why +should I suffer the pain of a delay in giving them vent, which can be +productive of no earthly good? No! Before I leave this place, Rose shall hear +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“She shall,” said Mrs. Maylie. +</p> + +<p> +“There is something in your manner, which would almost imply that she will hear +me coldly, mother,” said the young man. +</p> + +<p> +“Not coldly,” rejoined the old lady; “far from it.” +</p> + +<p> +“How then?” urged the young man. “She has formed no other attachment?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, indeed,” replied his mother; “you have, or I mistake, too strong a hold on +her affections already. What I would say,” resumed the old lady, stopping her +son as he was about to speak, “is this. Before you stake your all on this +chance; before you suffer yourself to be carried to the highest point of hope; +reflect for a few moments, my dear child, on Rose’s history, and consider what +effect the knowledge of her doubtful birth may have on her decision: devoted as +she is to us, with all the intensity of her noble mind, and with that perfect +sacrifice of self which, in all matters, great or trifling, has always been her +characteristic.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“That I leave you to discover,” replied Mrs. Maylie. “I must go back to her. +God bless you!” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall see you again tonight?” said the young man, eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“By and by,” replied the lady; “when I leave Rose.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will tell her I am here?” said Harry. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” replied Mrs. Maylie. +</p> + +<p> +“And say how anxious I have been, and how much I have suffered, and how I long +to see her. You will not refuse to do this, mother?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said the old lady; “I will tell her all.” And pressing her son’s hand, +affectionately, she hastened from the room. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Losberne and Oliver had remained at another end of the apartment while this +hurried conversation was proceeding. The former now held out his hand to Harry +Maylie; and hearty salutations were exchanged between them. The doctor then +communicated, in reply to multifarious questions from his young friend, a +precise account of his patient’s situation; which was quite as consolatory and +full of promise, as Oliver’s statement had encouraged him to hope; and to the +whole of which, Mr. Giles, who affected to be busy about the luggage, listened +with greedy ears. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you shot anything particular, lately, Giles?” inquired the doctor, when +he had concluded. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing particular, sir,” replied Mr. Giles, colouring up to the eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Nor catching any thieves, nor identifying any house-breakers?” said the +doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“None at all, sir,” replied Mr. Giles, with much gravity. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the doctor, “I am sorry to hear it, because you do that sort of +thing admirably. Pray, how is Brittles?” +</p> + +<p> +“The boy is very well, sir,” said Mr. Giles, recovering his usual tone of +patronage; “and sends his respectful duty, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s well,” said the doctor. “Seeing you here, reminds me, Mr. Giles, that +on the day before that on which I was called away so hurriedly, I executed, at +the request of your good mistress, a small commission in your favour. Just step +into this corner a moment, will you?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Giles walked into the corner with much importance, and some wonder, and was +honoured with a short whispering conference with the doctor, on the termination +of which, he made a great many bows, and retired with steps of unusual +stateliness. The subject matter of this conference was not disclosed in the +parlour, but the kitchen was speedily enlightened concerning it; for Mr. Giles +walked straight thither, and having called for a mug of ale, announced, with an +air of majesty, which was highly effective, that it had pleased his mistress, +in consideration of his gallant behaviour on the occasion of that attempted +robbery, to deposit, in the local savings-bank, the sum of five-and-twenty +pounds, for his sole use and benefit. At this, the two women-servants lifted up +their hands and eyes, and supposed that Mr. Giles, pulling out his shirt-frill, +replied, “No, no”; and that if they observed that he was at all haughty to his +inferiors, he would thank them to tell him so. And then he made a great many +other remarks, no less illustrative of his humility, which were received with +equal favour and applause, and were, withal, as original and as much to the +purpose, as the remarks of great men commonly are. +</p> + +<p> +Above stairs, the remainder of the evening passed cheerfully away; for the +doctor was in high spirits; and however fatigued or thoughtful Harry Maylie +might have been at first, he was not proof against the worthy gentleman’s good +humour, which displayed itself in a great variety of sallies and professional +recollections, and an abundance of small jokes, which struck Oliver as being +the drollest things he had ever heard, and caused him to laugh proportionately; +to the evident satisfaction of the doctor, who laughed immoderately at himself, +and made Harry laugh almost as heartily, by the very force of sympathy. So, +they were as pleasant a party as, under the circumstances, they could well have +been; and it was late before they retired, with light and thankful hearts, to +take that rest of which, after the doubt and suspense they had recently +undergone, they stood much in need. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver rose next morning, in better heart, and went about his usual +occupations, with more hope and pleasure than he had known for many days. The +birds were once more hung out, to sing, in their old places; and the sweetest +wild flowers that could be found, were once more gathered to gladden Rose with +their beauty. The melancholy which had seemed to the sad eyes of the anxious +boy to hang, for days past, over every object, beautiful as all were, was +dispelled by magic. The dew seemed to sparkle more brightly on the green +leaves; the air to rustle among them with a sweeter music; and the sky itself +to look more blue and bright. Such is the influence which the condition of our +own thoughts, exercise, even over the appearance of external objects. Men who +look on nature, and their fellow-men, and cry that all is dark and gloomy, are +in the right; but the sombre colours are reflections from their own jaundiced +eyes and hearts. The real hues are delicate, and need a clearer vision. +</p> + +<p> +It is worthy of remark, and Oliver did not fail to note it at the time, that +his morning expeditions were no longer made alone. Harry Maylie, after the very +first morning when he met Oliver coming laden home, was seized with such a +passion for flowers, and displayed such a taste in their arrangement, as left +his young companion far behind. If Oliver were behindhand in these respects, he +knew where the best were to be found; and morning after morning they scoured +the country together, and brought home the fairest that blossomed. The window +of the young lady’s chamber was opened now; for she loved to feel the rich +summer air stream in, and revive her with its freshness; but there always stood +in water, just inside the lattice, one particular little bunch, which was made +up with great care, every morning. Oliver could not help noticing that the +withered flowers were never thrown away, although the little vase was regularly +replenished; nor, could he help observing, that whenever the doctor came into +the garden, he invariably cast his eyes up to that particular corner, and +nodded his head most expressively, as he set forth on his morning’s walk. +Pending these observations, the days were flying by; and Rose was rapidly +recovering. +</p> + +<p> +Nor did Oliver’s time hang heavy on his hands, although the young lady had not +yet left her chamber, and there were no evening walks, save now and then, for a +short distance, with Mrs. Maylie. He applied himself, with redoubled assiduity, +to the instructions of the white-headed old gentleman, and laboured so hard +that his quick progress surprised even himself. It was while he was engaged in +this pursuit, that he was greatly startled and distressed by a most unexpected +occurrence. +</p> + +<p> +The little room in which he was accustomed to sit, when busy at his books, was +on the ground-floor, at the back of the house. It was quite a cottage-room, +with a lattice-window: around which were clusters of jessamine and honeysuckle, +that crept over the casement, and filled the place with their delicious +perfume. It looked into a garden, whence a wicket-gate opened into a small +paddock; all beyond, was fine meadow-land and wood. There was no other dwelling +near, in that direction; and the prospect it commanded was very extensive. +</p> + +<p> +One beautiful evening, when the first shades of twilight were beginning to +settle upon the earth, Oliver sat at this window, intent upon his books. He had +been poring over them for some time; and, as the day had been uncommonly +sultry, and he had exerted himself a great deal, it is no disparagement to the +authors, whoever they may have been, to say, that gradually and by slow +degrees, he fell asleep. +</p> + +<p> +There is a kind of sleep that steals upon us sometimes, which, while it holds +the body prisoner, does not free the mind from a sense of things about it, and +enable it to ramble at its pleasure. So far as an overpowering heaviness, a +prostration of strength, and an utter inability to control our thoughts or +power of motion, can be called sleep, this is it; and yet, we have a +consciousness of all that is going on about us, and, if we dream at such a +time, words which are really spoken, or sounds which really exist at the +moment, accommodate themselves with surprising readiness to our visions, until +reality and imagination become so strangely blended that it is afterwards +almost matter of impossibility to separate the two. Nor is this, the most +striking phenomenon incidental to such a state. It is an undoubted fact, that +although our senses of touch and sight be for the time dead, yet our sleeping +thoughts, and the visionary scenes that pass before us, will be influenced and +materially influenced, by the <i>mere silent presence</i> of some external +object; which may not have been near us when we closed our eyes: and of whose +vicinity we have had no waking consciousness. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver knew, perfectly well, that he was in his own little room; that his books +were lying on the table before him; that the sweet air was stirring among the +creeping plants outside. And yet he was asleep. Suddenly, the scene changed; +the air became close and confined; and he thought, with a glow of terror, that +he was in the Jew’s house again. There sat the hideous old man, in his +accustomed corner, pointing at him, and whispering to another man, with his +face averted, who sat beside him. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush, my dear!” he thought he heard the Jew say; “it is he, sure enough. Come +away.” +</p> + +<p> +“He!” the other man seemed to answer; “could I mistake him, think you? If a +crowd of ghosts were to put themselves into his exact shape, and he stood +amongst them, there is something that would tell me how to point him out. If +you buried him fifty feet deep, and took me across his grave, I fancy I should +know, if there wasn’t a mark above it, that he lay buried there?” +</p> + +<p> +The man seemed to say this, with such dreadful hatred, that Oliver awoke with +the fear, and started up. +</p> + +<p> +Good Heaven! what was that, which sent the blood tingling to his heart, and +deprived him of his voice, and of power to move! There—there—at the +window—close before him—so close, that he could have almost touched him before +he started back: with his eyes peering into the room, and meeting his: there +stood the Jew! And beside him, white with rage or fear, or both, were the +scowling features of the man who had accosted him in the inn-yard. +</p> + +<p> +It was but an instant, a glance, a flash, before his eyes; and they were gone. +But they had recognised him, and he them; and their look was as firmly +impressed upon his memory, as if it had been deeply carved in stone, and set +before him from his birth. He stood transfixed for a moment; then, leaping from +the window into the garden, called loudly for help. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap35"></a> CHAPTER XXXV.<br/> +CONTAINING THE UNSATISFACTORY RESULT OF OLIVER’S ADVENTURE; AND A CONVERSATION +OF SOME IMPORTANCE BETWEEN HARRY MAYLIE AND ROSE</h2> + +<p> +When the inmates of the house, attracted by Oliver’s cries, hurried to the spot +from which they proceeded, they found him, pale and agitated, pointing in the +direction of the meadows behind the house, and scarcely able to articulate the +words, “The Jew! the Jew!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Giles was at a loss to comprehend what this outcry meant; but Harry Maylie, +whose perceptions were something quicker, and who had heard Oliver’s history +from his mother, understood it at once. +</p> + +<p> +“What direction did he take?” he asked, catching up a heavy stick which was +standing in a corner. +</p> + +<p> +“That,” replied Oliver, pointing out the course the man had taken; “I missed +them in an instant.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, they are in the ditch!” said Harry. “Follow! And keep as near me, as you +can.” So saying, he sprang over the hedge, and darted off with a speed which +rendered it matter of exceeding difficulty for the others to keep near him. +</p> + +<p> +Giles followed as well as he could; and Oliver followed too; and in the course +of a minute or two, Mr. Losberne, who had been out walking, and just then +returned, tumbled over the hedge after them, and picking himself up with more +agility than he could have been supposed to possess, struck into the same +course at no contemptible speed, shouting all the while, most prodigiously, to +know what was the matter. +</p> + +<p> +On they all went; nor stopped they once to breathe, until the leader, striking +off into an angle of the field indicated by Oliver, began to search, narrowly, +the ditch and hedge adjoining; which afforded time for the remainder of the +party to come up; and for Oliver to communicate to Mr. Losberne the +circumstances that had led to so vigorous a pursuit. +</p> + +<p> +The search was all in vain. There were not even the traces of recent footsteps, +to be seen. They stood now, on the summit of a little hill, commanding the open +fields in every direction for three or four miles. There was the village in the +hollow on the left; but, in order to gain that, after pursuing the track Oliver +had pointed out, the men must have made a circuit of open ground, which it was +impossible they could have accomplished in so short a time. A thick wood +skirted the meadow-land in another direction; but they could not have gained +that covert for the same reason. +</p> + +<p> +“It must have been a dream, Oliver,” said Harry Maylie. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh no, indeed, sir,” replied Oliver, shuddering at the very recollection of +the old wretch’s countenance; “I saw him too plainly for that. I saw them both, +as plainly as I see you now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who was the other?” inquired Harry and Mr. Losberne, together. +</p> + +<p> +“The very same man I told you of, who came so suddenly upon me at the inn,” +said Oliver. “We had our eyes fixed full upon each other; and I could swear to +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“They took this way?” demanded Harry: “are you sure?” +</p> + +<p> +“As I am that the men were at the window,” replied Oliver, pointing down, as he +spoke, to the hedge which divided the cottage-garden from the meadow. “The tall +man leaped over, just there; and the Jew, running a few paces to the right, +crept through that gap.” +</p> + +<p> +The two gentlemen watched Oliver’s earnest face, as he spoke, and looking from +him to each other, seemed to feel satisfied of the accuracy of what he said. +Still, in no direction were there any appearances of the trampling of men in +hurried flight. The grass was long; but it was trodden down nowhere, save where +their own feet had crushed it. The sides and brinks of the ditches were of damp +clay; but in no one place could they discern the print of men’s shoes, or the +slightest mark which would indicate that any feet had pressed the ground for +hours before. +</p> + +<p> +“This is strange!” said Harry. +</p> + +<p> +“Strange?” echoed the doctor. “Blathers and Duff, themselves, could make +nothing of it.” +</p> + +<p> +Notwithstanding the evidently useless nature of their search, they did not +desist until the coming on of night rendered its further prosecution hopeless; +and even then, they gave it up with reluctance. Giles was dispatched to the +different ale-houses in the village, furnished with the best description Oliver +could give of the appearance and dress of the strangers. Of these, the Jew was, +at all events, sufficiently remarkable to be remembered, supposing he had been +seen drinking, or loitering about; but Giles returned without any intelligence, +calculated to dispel or lessen the mystery. +</p> + +<p> +On the next day, fresh search was made, and the inquiries renewed; but with no +better success. On the day following, Oliver and Mr. Maylie repaired to the +market-town, in the hope of seeing or hearing something of the men there; but +this effort was equally fruitless. After a few days, the affair began to be +forgotten, as most affairs are, when wonder, having no fresh food to support +it, dies away of itself. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, Rose was rapidly recovering. She had left her room: was able to go +out; and mixing once more with the family, carried joy into the hearts of all. +</p> + +<p> +But, although this happy change had a visible effect on the little circle; and +although cheerful voices and merry laughter were once more heard in the +cottage; there was at times, an unwonted restraint upon some there: even upon +Rose herself: which Oliver could not fail to remark. Mrs. Maylie and her son +were often closeted together for a long time; and more than once Rose appeared +with traces of tears upon her face. After Mr. Losberne had fixed a day for his +departure to Chertsey, these symptoms increased; and it became evident that +something was in progress which affected the peace of the young lady, and of +somebody else besides. +</p> + +<p> +At length, one morning, when Rose was alone in the breakfast-parlour, Harry +Maylie entered; and, with some hesitation, begged permission to speak with her +for a few moments. +</p> + +<p> +“A few—a very few—will suffice, Rose,” said the young man, drawing his chair +towards her. “What I shall have to say, has already presented itself to your +mind; the most cherished hopes of my heart are not unknown to you, though from +my lips you have not heard them stated.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose had been very pale from the moment of his entrance; but that might have +been the effect of her recent illness. She merely bowed; and bending over some +plants that stood near, waited in silence for him to proceed. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I—ought to have left here, before,” said Harry. +</p> + +<p> +“You should, indeed,” replied Rose. “Forgive me for saying so, but I wish you +had.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was brought here, by the most dreadful and agonising of all apprehensions,” +said the young man; “the fear of losing the one dear being on whom my every +wish and hope are fixed. You had been dying; trembling between earth and +heaven. We know that when the young, the beautiful, and good, are visited with +sickness, their pure spirits insensibly turn towards their bright home of +lasting rest; we know, Heaven help us! that the best and fairest of our kind, +too often fade in blooming.” +</p> + +<p> +There were tears in the eyes of the gentle girl, as these words were spoken; +and when one fell upon the flower over which she bent, and glistened brightly +in its cup, making it more beautiful, it seemed as though the outpouring of her +fresh young heart, claimed kindred naturally, with the loveliest things in +nature. +</p> + +<p> +“A creature,” continued the young man, passionately, “a creature as fair and +innocent of guile as one of God’s own angels, fluttered between life and death. +Oh! who could hope, when the distant world to which she was akin, half opened +to her view, that she would return to the sorrow and calamity of this! Rose, +Rose, to know that you were passing away like some soft shadow, which a light +from above, casts upon the earth; to have no hope that you would be spared to +those who linger here; hardly to know a reason why you should be; to feel that +you belonged to that bright sphere whither so many of the fairest and the best +have winged their early flight; and yet to pray, amid all these consolations, +that you might be restored to those who loved you—these were distractions +almost too great to bear. They were mine, by day and night; and with them, came +such a rushing torrent of fears, and apprehensions, and selfish regrets, lest +you should die, and never know how devotedly I loved you, as almost bore down +sense and reason in its course. You recovered. Day by day, and almost hour by +hour, some drop of health came back, and mingling with the spent and feeble +stream of life which circulated languidly within you, swelled it again to a +high and rushing tide. I have watched you change almost from death, to life, +with eyes that turned blind with their eagerness and deep affection. Do not +tell me that you wish I had lost this; for it has softened my heart to all +mankind.” +</p> + +<p> +“I did not mean that,” said Rose, weeping; “I only wish you had left here, that +you might have turned to high and noble pursuits again; to pursuits well worthy +of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is no pursuit more worthy of me: more worthy of the highest nature that +exists: than the struggle to win such a heart as yours,” said the young man, +taking her hand. “Rose, my own dear Rose! For years—for years—I have loved you; +hoping to win my way to fame, and then come proudly home and tell you it had +been pursued only for you to share; thinking, in my daydreams, how I would +remind you, in that happy moment, of the many silent tokens I had given of a +boy’s attachment, and claim your hand, as in redemption of some old mute +contract that had been sealed between us! That time has not arrived; but here, +with not fame won, and no young vision realised, I offer you the heart so long +your own, and stake my all upon the words with which you greet the offer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your behaviour has ever been kind and noble.” said Rose, mastering the +emotions by which she was agitated. “As you believe that I am not insensible or +ungrateful, so hear my answer.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is, that I may endeavour to deserve you; it is, dear Rose?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is,” replied Rose, “that you must endeavour to forget me; not as your old +and dearly-attached companion, for that would wound me deeply; but, as the +object of your love. Look into the world; think how many hearts you would be +proud to gain, are there. Confide some other passion to me, if you will; I will +be the truest, warmest, and most faithful friend you have.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause, during which, Rose, who had covered her face with one hand, +gave free vent to her tears. Harry still retained the other. +</p> + +<p> +“And your reasons, Rose,” he said, at length, in a low voice; “your reasons for +this decision?” +</p> + +<p> +“You have a right to know them,” rejoined Rose. “You can say nothing to alter +my resolution. It is a duty that I must perform. I owe it, alike to others, and +to myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“To yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Harry. I owe it to myself, that I, a friendless, portionless, girl, with +a blight upon my name, should not give your friends reason to suspect that I +had sordidly yielded to your first passion, and fastened myself, a clog, on all +your hopes and projects. I owe it to you and yours, to prevent you from +opposing, in the warmth of your generous nature, this great obstacle to your +progress in the world.” +</p> + +<p> +“If your inclinations chime with your sense of duty—” Harry began. +</p> + +<p> +“They do not,” replied Rose, colouring deeply. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you return my love?” said Harry. “Say but that, dear Rose; say but that; +and soften the bitterness of this hard disappointment!” +</p> + +<p> +“If I could have done so, without doing heavy wrong to him I loved,” rejoined +Rose, “I could have—” +</p> + +<p> +“Have received this declaration very differently?” said Harry. “Do not conceal +that from me, at least, Rose.” +</p> + +<p> +“I could,” said Rose. “Stay!” she added, disengaging her hand, “why should we +prolong this painful interview? Most painful to me, and yet productive of +lasting happiness, notwithstanding; for it <i>will</i> be happiness to know +that I once held the high place in your regard which I now occupy, and every +triumph you achieve in life will animate me with new fortitude and firmness. +Farewell, Harry! As we have met today, we meet no more; but in other relations +than those in which this conversation have placed us, we may be long and +happily entwined; and may every blessing that the prayers of a true and earnest +heart can call down from the source of all truth and sincerity, cheer and +prosper you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Another word, Rose,” said Harry. “Your reason in your own words. From your own +lips, let me hear it!” +</p> + +<p> +“The prospect before you,” answered Rose, firmly, “is a brilliant one. All the +honours to which great talents and powerful connections can help men in public +life, are in store for you. But those connections are proud; and I will neither +mingle with such as may hold in scorn the mother who gave me life; nor bring +disgrace or failure on the son of her who has so well supplied that mother’s +place. In a word,” said the young lady, turning away, as her temporary firmness +forsook her, “there is a stain upon my name, which the world visits on innocent +heads. I will carry it into no blood but my own; and the reproach shall rest +alone on me.” +</p> + +<p> +“One word more, Rose. Dearest Rose! one more!” cried Harry, throwing himself +before her. “If I had been less—less fortunate, the world would call it—if some +obscure and peaceful life had been my destiny—if I had been poor, sick, +helpless—would you have turned from me then? Or has my probable advancement to +riches and honour, given this scruple birth?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do not press me to reply,” answered Rose. “The question does not arise, and +never will. It is unfair, almost unkind, to urge it.” +</p> + +<p> +“If your answer be what I almost dare to hope it is,” retorted Harry, “it will +shed a gleam of happiness upon my lonely way, and light the path before me. It +is not an idle thing to do so much, by the utterance of a few brief words, for +one who loves you beyond all else. Oh, Rose: in the name of my ardent and +enduring attachment; in the name of all I have suffered for you, and all you +doom me to undergo; answer me this one question!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, if your lot had been differently cast,” rejoined Rose; “if you had been +even a little, but not so far, above me; if I could have been a help and +comfort to you in any humble scene of peace and retirement, and not a blot and +drawback in ambitious and distinguished crowds; I should have been spared this +trial. I have every reason to be happy, very happy, now; but then, Harry, I own +I should have been happier.” +</p> + +<p> +Busy recollections of old hopes, cherished as a girl, long ago, crowded into +the mind of Rose, while making this avowal; but they brought tears with them, +as old hopes will when they come back withered; and they relieved her. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot help this weakness, and it makes my purpose stronger,” said Rose, +extending her hand. “I must leave you now, indeed.” +</p> + +<p> +“I ask one promise,” said Harry. “Once, and only once more,—say within a year, +but it may be much sooner,—I may speak to you again on this subject, for the +last time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not to press me to alter my right determination,” replied Rose, with a +melancholy smile; “it will be useless.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Harry; “to hear you repeat it, if you will—finally repeat it! I will +lay at your feet, whatever of station of fortune I may possess; and if you +still adhere to your present resolution, will not seek, by word or act, to +change it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then let it be so,” rejoined Rose; “it is but one pang the more, and by that +time I may be enabled to bear it better.” +</p> + +<p> +She extended her hand again. But the young man caught her to his bosom; and +imprinting one kiss on her beautiful forehead, hurried from the room. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap36"></a> CHAPTER XXXVI.<br/> +IS A VERY SHORT ONE, AND MAY APPEAR OF NO GREAT IMPORTANCE IN ITS PLACE, BUT IT +SHOULD BE READ NOTWITHSTANDING, AS A SEQUEL TO THE LAST, AND A KEY TO ONE THAT +WILL FOLLOW WHEN ITS TIME ARRIVES</h2> + +<p> +“And so you are resolved to be my travelling companion this morning; eh?” said +the doctor, as Harry Maylie joined him and Oliver at the breakfast-table. “Why, +you are not in the same mind or intention two half-hours together!” +</p> + +<p> +“You will tell me a different tale one of these days,” said Harry, colouring +without any perceptible reason. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope I may have good cause to do so,” replied Mr. Losberne; “though I +confess I don’t think I shall. But yesterday morning you had made up your mind, +in a great hurry, to stay here, and to accompany your mother, like a dutiful +son, to the sea-side. Before noon, you announce that you are going to do me the +honour of accompanying me as far as I go, on your road to London. And at night, +you urge me, with great mystery, to start before the ladies are stirring; the +consequence of which is, that young Oliver here is pinned down to his breakfast +when he ought to be ranging the meadows after botanical phenomena of all kinds. +Too bad, isn’t it, Oliver?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should have been very sorry not to have been at home when you and Mr. Maylie +went away, sir,” rejoined Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a fine fellow,” said the doctor; “you shall come and see me when you +return. But, to speak seriously, Harry; has any communication from the great +nobs produced this sudden anxiety on your part to be gone?” +</p> + +<p> +“The great nobs,” replied Harry, “under which designation, I presume, you +include my most stately uncle, have not communicated with me at all, since I +have been here; nor, at this time of the year, is it likely that anything would +occur to render necessary my immediate attendance among them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the doctor, “you are a queer fellow. But of course they will get +you into parliament at the election before Christmas, and these sudden +shiftings and changes are no bad preparation for political life. There’s +something in that. Good training is always desirable, whether the race be for +place, cup, or sweepstakes.” +</p> + +<p> +Harry Maylie looked as if he could have followed up this short dialogue by one +or two remarks that would have staggered the doctor not a little; but he +contented himself with saying, “We shall see,” and pursued the subject no +farther. The post-chaise drove up to the door shortly afterwards; and Giles +coming in for the luggage, the good doctor bustled out, to see it packed. +</p> + +<p> +“Oliver,” said Harry Maylie, in a low voice, “let me speak a word with you.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver walked into the window-recess to which Mr. Maylie beckoned him; much +surprised at the mixture of sadness and boisterous spirits, which his whole +behaviour displayed. +</p> + +<p> +“You can write well now?” said Harry, laying his hand upon his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so, sir,” replied Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall not be at home again, perhaps for some time; I wish you would write to +me—say once a fort-night: every alternate Monday: to the General Post Office in +London. Will you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! certainly, sir; I shall be proud to do it,” exclaimed Oliver, greatly +delighted with the commission. +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to know how—how my mother and Miss Maylie are,” said the young +man; “and you can fill up a sheet by telling me what walks you take, and what +you talk about, and whether she—they, I mean—seem happy and quite well. You +understand me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! quite, sir, quite,” replied Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“I would rather you did not mention it to them,” said Harry, hurrying over his +words; “because it might make my mother anxious to write to me oftener, and it +is a trouble and worry to her. Let it be a secret between you and me; and mind +you tell me everything! I depend upon you.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver, quite elated and honoured by a sense of his importance, faithfully +promised to be secret and explicit in his communications. Mr. Maylie took leave +of him, with many assurances of his regard and protection. +</p> + +<p> +The doctor was in the chaise; Giles (who, it had been arranged, should be left +behind) held the door open in his hand; and the women-servants were in the +garden, looking on. Harry cast one slight glance at the latticed window, and +jumped into the carriage. +</p> + +<p> +“Drive on!” he cried, “hard, fast, full gallop! Nothing short of flying will +keep pace with me, today.” +</p> + +<p> +“Halloa!” cried the doctor, letting down the front glass in a great hurry, and +shouting to the postillion; “something very short of flying will keep pace with +<i>me</i>. Do you hear?” +</p> + +<p> +Jingling and clattering, till distance rendered its noise inaudible, and its +rapid progress only perceptible to the eye, the vehicle wound its way along the +road, almost hidden in a cloud of dust: now wholly disappearing, and now +becoming visible again, as intervening objects, or the intricacies of the way, +permitted. It was not until even the dusty cloud was no longer to be seen, that +the gazers dispersed. +</p> + +<p> +And there was one looker-on, who remained with eyes fixed upon the spot where +the carriage had disappeared, long after it was many miles away; for, behind +the white curtain which had shrouded her from view when Harry raised his eyes +towards the window, sat Rose herself. +</p> + +<p> +“He seems in high spirits and happy,” she said, at length. “I feared for a time +he might be otherwise. I was mistaken. I am very, very glad.” +</p> + +<p> +Tears are signs of gladness as well as grief; but those which coursed down +Rose’s face, as she sat pensively at the window, still gazing in the same +direction, seemed to tell more of sorrow than of joy. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap37"></a> CHAPTER XXXVII.<br/> +IN WHICH THE READER MAY PERCEIVE A CONTRAST, NOT UNCOMMON IN MATRIMONIAL +CASES</h2> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble sat in the workhouse parlour, with his eyes moodily fixed on the +cheerless grate, whence, as it was summer time, no brighter gleam proceeded, +than the reflection of certain sickly rays of the sun, which were sent back +from its cold and shining surface. A paper fly-cage dangled from the ceiling, +to which he occasionally raised his eyes in gloomy thought; and, as the +heedless insects hovered round the gaudy net-work, Mr. Bumble would heave a +deep sigh, while a more gloomy shadow overspread his countenance. Mr. Bumble +was meditating; it might be that the insects brought to mind, some painful +passage in his own past life. +</p> + +<p> +Nor was Mr. Bumble’s gloom the only thing calculated to awaken a pleasing +melancholy in the bosom of a spectator. There were not wanting other +appearances, and those closely connected with his own person, which announced +that a great change had taken place in the position of his affairs. The laced +coat, and the cocked hat; where were they? He still wore knee-breeches, and +dark cotton stockings on his nether limbs; but they were not <i>the</i> +breeches. The coat was wide-skirted; and in that respect like <i>the</i> coat, +but, oh how different! The mighty cocked hat was replaced by a modest round +one. Mr. Bumble was no longer a beadle. +</p> + +<p> +There are some promotions in life, which, independent of the more substantial +rewards they offer, require peculiar value and dignity from the coats and +waistcoats connected with them. A field-marshal has his uniform; a bishop his +silk apron; a counsellor his silk gown; a beadle his cocked hat. Strip the +bishop of his apron, or the beadle of his hat and lace; what are they? Men. +Mere men. Dignity, and even holiness too, sometimes, are more questions of coat +and waistcoat than some people imagine. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble had married Mrs. Corney, and was master of the workhouse. Another +beadle had come into power. On him the cocked hat, gold-laced coat, and staff, +had all three descended. +</p> + +<p> +“And tomorrow two months it was done!” said Mr. Bumble, with a sigh. “It seems +a age.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble might have meant that he had concentrated a whole existence of +happiness into the short space of eight weeks; but the sigh—there was a vast +deal of meaning in the sigh. +</p> + +<p> +“I sold myself,” said Mr. Bumble, pursuing the same train of reflection, “for +six teaspoons, a pair of sugar-tongs, and a milk-pot; with a small quantity of +second-hand furniture, and twenty pound in money. I went very reasonable. +Cheap, dirt cheap!” +</p> + +<p> +“Cheap!” cried a shrill voice in Mr. Bumble’s ear: “you would have been dear at +any price; and dear enough I paid for you, Lord above knows that!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble turned, and encountered the face of his interesting consort, who, +imperfectly comprehending the few words she had overheard of his complaint, had +hazarded the foregoing remark at a venture. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Bumble, ma’am!” said Mr. Bumble, with a sentimental sternness. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” cried the lady. +</p> + +<p> +“Have the goodness to look at me,” said Mr. Bumble, fixing his eyes upon her. +</p> + +<p> +“If she stands such a eye as that,” said Mr. Bumble to himself, “she can stand +anything. It is a eye I never knew to fail with paupers. If it fails with her, +my power is gone.” +</p> + +<p> +Whether an exceedingly small expansion of eye be sufficient to quell paupers, +who, being lightly fed, are in no very high condition; or whether the late Mrs. +Corney was particularly proof against eagle glances; are matters of opinion. +The matter of fact, is, that the matron was in no way overpowered by Mr. +Bumble’s scowl, but, on the contrary, treated it with great disdain, and even +raised a laugh thereat, which sounded as though it were genuine. +</p> + +<p> +On hearing this most unexpected sound, Mr. Bumble looked, first incredulous, +and afterwards amazed. He then relapsed into his former state; nor did he rouse +himself until his attention was again awakened by the voice of his partner. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going to sit snoring there, all day?” inquired Mrs. Bumble. +</p> + +<p> +“I am going to sit here, as long as I think proper, ma’am,” rejoined Mr. +Bumble; “and although I was <i>not</i> snoring, I shall snore, gape, sneeze, +laugh, or cry, as the humour strikes me; such being my prerogative.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Your</i> prerogative!” sneered Mrs. Bumble, with ineffable contempt. +</p> + +<p> +“I said the word, ma’am,” said Mr. Bumble. “The prerogative of a man is to +command.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what’s the prerogative of a woman, in the name of Goodness?” cried the +relict of Mr. Corney deceased. +</p> + +<p> +“To obey, ma’am,” thundered Mr. Bumble. “Your late unfortunate husband should +have taught it you; and then, perhaps, he might have been alive now. I wish he +was, poor man!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Bumble, seeing at a glance, that the decisive moment had now arrived, and +that a blow struck for the mastership on one side or other, must necessarily be +final and conclusive, no sooner heard this allusion to the dead and gone, than +she dropped into a chair, and with a loud scream that Mr. Bumble was a +hard-hearted brute, fell into a paroxysm of tears. +</p> + +<p> +But, tears were not the things to find their way to Mr. Bumble’s soul; his +heart was waterproof. Like washable beaver hats that improve with rain, his +nerves were rendered stouter and more vigorous, by showers of tears, which, +being tokens of weakness, and so far tacit admissions of his own power, pleased +and exalted him. He eyed his good lady with looks of great satisfaction, and +begged, in an encouraging manner, that she should cry her hardest: the exercise +being looked upon, by the faculty, as strongly conducive to health. +</p> + +<p> +“It opens the lungs, washes the countenance, exercises the eyes, and softens +down the temper,” said Mr. Bumble. “So cry away.” +</p> + +<p> +As he discharged himself of this pleasantry, Mr. Bumble took his hat from a +peg, and putting it on, rather rakishly, on one side, as a man might, who felt +he had asserted his superiority in a becoming manner, thrust his hands into his +pockets, and sauntered towards the door, with much ease and waggishness +depicted in his whole appearance. +</p> + +<p> +Now, Mrs. Corney that was, had tried the tears, because they were less +troublesome than a manual assault; but, she was quite prepared to make trial of +the latter mode of proceeding, as Mr. Bumble was not long in discovering. +</p> + +<p> +The first proof he experienced of the fact, was conveyed in a hollow sound, +immediately succeeded by the sudden flying off of his hat to the opposite end +of the room. This preliminary proceeding laying bare his head, the expert lady, +clasping him tightly round the throat with one hand, inflicted a shower of +blows (dealt with singular vigour and dexterity) upon it with the other. This +done, she created a little variety by scratching his face, and tearing his +hair; and, having, by this time, inflicted as much punishment as she deemed +necessary for the offence, she pushed him over a chair, which was luckily well +situated for the purpose: and defied him to talk about his prerogative again, +if he dared. +</p> + +<p> +“Get up!” said Mrs. Bumble, in a voice of command. “And take yourself away from +here, unless you want me to do something desperate.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble rose with a very rueful countenance: wondering much what something +desperate might be. Picking up his hat, he looked towards the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going?” demanded Mrs. Bumble. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly, my dear, certainly,” rejoined Mr. Bumble, making a quicker motion +towards the door. “I didn’t intend to—I’m going, my dear! You are so very +violent, that really I—” +</p> + +<p> +At this instant, Mrs. Bumble stepped hastily forward to replace the carpet, +which had been kicked up in the scuffle. Mr. Bumble immediately darted out of +the room, without bestowing another thought on his unfinished sentence: leaving +the late Mrs. Corney in full possession of the field. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble was fairly taken by surprise, and fairly beaten. He had a decided +propensity for bullying: derived no inconsiderable pleasure from the exercise +of petty cruelty; and, consequently, was (it is needless to say) a coward. This +is by no means a disparagement to his character; for many official personages, +who are held in high respect and admiration, are the victims of similar +infirmities. The remark is made, indeed, rather in his favour than otherwise, +and with a view of impressing the reader with a just sense of his +qualifications for office. +</p> + +<p> +But, the measure of his degradation was not yet full. After making a tour of +the house, and thinking, for the first time, that the poor-laws really were too +hard on people; and that men who ran away from their wives, leaving them +chargeable to the parish, ought, in justice to be visited with no punishment at +all, but rather rewarded as meritorious individuals who had suffered much; Mr. +Bumble came to a room where some of the female paupers were usually employed in +washing the parish linen: when the sound of voices in conversation, now +proceeded. +</p> + +<p> +“Hem!” said Mr. Bumble, summoning up all his native dignity. “These women at +least shall continue to respect the prerogative. Hallo! hallo there! What do +you mean by this noise, you hussies?” +</p> + +<p> +With these words, Mr. Bumble opened the door, and walked in with a very fierce +and angry manner: which was at once exchanged for a most humiliated and +cowering air, as his eyes unexpectedly rested on the form of his lady wife. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear,” said Mr. Bumble, “I didn’t know you were here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t know I was here!” repeated Mrs. Bumble. “What do <i>you</i> do here?” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought they were talking rather too much to be doing their work properly, +my dear,” replied Mr. Bumble: glancing distractedly at a couple of old women at +the wash-tub, who were comparing notes of admiration at the workhouse-master’s +humility. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>You</i> thought they were talking too much?” said Mrs. Bumble. “What +business is it of yours?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, my dear—” urged Mr. Bumble submissively. +</p> + +<p> +“What business is it of yours?” demanded Mrs. Bumble, again. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s very true, you’re matron here, my dear,” submitted Mr. Bumble; “but I +thought you mightn’t be in the way just then.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you what, Mr. Bumble,” returned his lady. “We don’t want any of your +interference. You’re a great deal too fond of poking your nose into things that +don’t concern you, making everybody in the house laugh, the moment your back is +turned, and making yourself look like a fool every hour in the day. Be off; +come!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble, seeing with excruciating feelings, the delight of the two old +paupers, who were tittering together most rapturously, hesitated for an +instant. Mrs. Bumble, whose patience brooked no delay, caught up a bowl of +soap-suds, and motioning him towards the door, ordered him instantly to depart, +on pain of receiving the contents upon his portly person. +</p> + +<p> +What could Mr. Bumble do? He looked dejectedly round, and slunk away; and, as +he reached the door, the titterings of the paupers broke into a shrill chuckle +of irrepressible delight. It wanted but this. He was degraded in their eyes; he +had lost caste and station before the very paupers; he had fallen from all the +height and pomp of beadleship, to the lowest depth of the most snubbed +hen-peckery. +</p> + +<p> +“All in two months!” said Mr. Bumble, filled with dismal thoughts. “Two months! +No more than two months ago, I was not only my own master, but everybody +else’s, so far as the porochial workhouse was concerned, and now!—” +</p> + +<p> +It was too much. Mr. Bumble boxed the ears of the boy who opened the gate for +him (for he had reached the portal in his reverie); and walked, distractedly, +into the street. +</p> + +<p> +He walked up one street, and down another, until exercise had abated the first +passion of his grief; and then the revulsion of feeling made him thirsty. He +passed a great many public-houses; but, at length paused before one in a +by-way, whose parlour, as he gathered from a hasty peep over the blinds, was +deserted, save by one solitary customer. It began to rain, heavily, at the +moment. This determined him. Mr. Bumble stepped in; and ordering something to +drink, as he passed the bar, entered the apartment into which he had looked +from the street. +</p> + +<p> +The man who was seated there, was tall and dark, and wore a large cloak. He had +the air of a stranger; and seemed, by a certain haggardness in his look, as +well as by the dusty soils on his dress, to have travelled some distance. He +eyed Bumble askance, as he entered, but scarcely deigned to nod his head in +acknowledgment of his salutation. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble had quite dignity enough for two; supposing even that the stranger +had been more familiar: so he drank his gin-and-water in silence, and read the +paper with great show of pomp and circumstance. +</p> + +<p> +It so happened, however: as it will happen very often, when men fall into +company under such circumstances: that Mr. Bumble felt, every now and then, a +powerful inducement, which he could not resist, to steal a look at the +stranger: and that whenever he did so, he withdrew his eyes, in some confusion, +to find that the stranger was at that moment stealing a look at him. Mr. +Bumble’s awkwardness was enhanced by the very remarkable expression of the +stranger’s eye, which was keen and bright, but shadowed by a scowl of distrust +and suspicion, unlike anything he had ever observed before, and repulsive to +behold. +</p> + +<p> +When they had encountered each other’s glance several times in this way, the +stranger, in a harsh, deep voice, broke silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Were you looking for me,” he said, “when you peered in at the window?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not that I am aware of, unless you’re Mr.—” Here Mr. Bumble stopped short; for +he was curious to know the stranger’s name, and thought in his impatience, he +might supply the blank. +</p> + +<p> +“I see you were not,” said the stranger; an expression of quiet sarcasm playing +about his mouth; “or you have known my name. You don’t know it. I would +recommend you not to ask for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I meant no harm, young man,” observed Mr. Bumble, majestically. +</p> + +<p> +“And have done none,” said the stranger. +</p> + +<p> +Another silence succeeded this short dialogue: which was again broken by the +stranger. +</p> + +<p> +“I have seen you before, I think?” said he. “You were differently dressed at +that time, and I only passed you in the street, but I should know you again. +You were beadle here, once; were you not?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was,” said Mr. Bumble, in some surprise; “porochial beadle.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just so,” rejoined the other, nodding his head. “It was in that character I +saw you. What are you now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Master of the workhouse,” rejoined Mr. Bumble, slowly and impressively, to +check any undue familiarity the stranger might otherwise assume. “Master of the +workhouse, young man!” +</p> + +<p> +“You have the same eye to your own interest, that you always had, I doubt not?” +resumed the stranger, looking keenly into Mr. Bumble’s eyes, as he raised them +in astonishment at the question. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t scruple to answer freely, man. I know you pretty well, you see.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose, a married man,” replied Mr. Bumble, shading his eyes with his hand, +and surveying the stranger, from head to foot, in evident perplexity, “is not +more averse to turning an honest penny when he can, than a single one. +Porochial officers are not so well paid that they can afford to refuse any +little extra fee, when it comes to them in a civil and proper manner.” +</p> + +<p> +The stranger smiled, and nodded his head again: as much to say, he had not +mistaken his man; then rang the bell. +</p> + +<p> +“Fill this glass again,” he said, handing Mr. Bumble’s empty tumbler to the +landlord. “Let it be strong and hot. You like it so, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not too strong,” replied Mr. Bumble, with a delicate cough. +</p> + +<p> +“You understand what that means, landlord!” said the stranger, drily. +</p> + +<p> +The host smiled, disappeared, and shortly afterwards returned with a steaming +jorum: of which, the first gulp brought the water into Mr. Bumble’s eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Now listen to me,” said the stranger, after closing the door and window. “I +came down to this place, today, to find you out; and, by one of those chances +which the devil throws in the way of his friends sometimes, you walked into the +very room I was sitting in, while you were uppermost in my mind. I want some +information from you. I don’t ask you to give it for nothing, slight as it is. +Put up that, to begin with.” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, he pushed a couple of sovereigns across the table to his +companion, carefully, as though unwilling that the chinking of money should be +heard without. When Mr. Bumble had scrupulously examined the coins, to see that +they were genuine, and had put them up, with much satisfaction, in his +waistcoat-pocket, he went on: +</p> + +<p> +“Carry your memory back—let me see—twelve years, last winter.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a long time,” said Mr. Bumble. “Very good. I’ve done it.” +</p> + +<p> +“The scene, the workhouse.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” +</p> + +<p> +“And the time, night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the place, the crazy hole, wherever it was, in which miserable drabs +brought forth the life and health so often denied to themselves—gave birth to +puling children for the parish to rear; and hid their shame, rot ’em in the +grave!” +</p> + +<p> +“The lying-in room, I suppose?” said Mr. Bumble, not quite following the +stranger’s excited description. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the stranger. “A boy was born there.” +</p> + +<p> +“A many boys,” observed Mr. Bumble, shaking his head, despondingly. +</p> + +<p> +“A murrain on the young devils!” cried the stranger; “I speak of one; a +meek-looking, pale-faced boy, who was apprenticed down here, to a +coffin-maker—I wish he had made his coffin, and screwed his body in it—and who +afterwards ran away to London, as it was supposed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you mean Oliver! Young Twist!” said Mr. Bumble; “I remember him, of +course. There wasn’t a obstinater young rascal—” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not of him I want to hear; I’ve heard enough of him,” said the stranger, +stopping Mr. Bumble in the outset of a tirade on the subject of poor Oliver’s +vices. “It’s of a woman; the hag that nursed his mother. Where is she?” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is she?” said Mr. Bumble, whom the gin-and-water had rendered facetious. +“It would be hard to tell. There’s no midwifery there, whichever place she’s +gone to; so I suppose she’s out of employment, anyway.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” demanded the stranger, sternly. +</p> + +<p> +“That she died last winter,” rejoined Mr. Bumble. +</p> + +<p> +The man looked fixedly at him when he had given this information, and although +he did not withdraw his eyes for some time afterwards, his gaze gradually +became vacant and abstracted, and he seemed lost in thought. For some time, he +appeared doubtful whether he ought to be relieved or disappointed by the +intelligence; but at length he breathed more freely; and withdrawing his eyes, +observed that it was no great matter. With that he rose, as if to depart. +</p> + +<p> +But Mr. Bumble was cunning enough; and he at once saw that an opportunity was +opened, for the lucrative disposal of some secret in the possession of his +better half. He well remembered the night of old Sally’s death, which the +occurrences of that day had given him good reason to recollect, as the occasion +on which he had proposed to Mrs. Corney; and although that lady had never +confided to him the disclosure of which she had been the solitary witness, he +had heard enough to know that it related to something that had occurred in the +old woman’s attendance, as workhouse nurse, upon the young mother of Oliver +Twist. Hastily calling this circumstance to mind, he informed the stranger, +with an air of mystery, that one woman had been closeted with the old harridan +shortly before she died; and that she could, as he had reason to believe, throw +some light on the subject of his inquiry. +</p> + +<p> +“How can I find her?” said the stranger, thrown off his guard; and plainly +showing that all his fears (whatever they were) were aroused afresh by the +intelligence. +</p> + +<p> +“Only through me,” rejoined Mr. Bumble. +</p> + +<p> +“When?” cried the stranger, hastily. +</p> + +<p> +“Tomorrow,” rejoined Bumble. +</p> + +<p> +“At nine in the evening,” said the stranger, producing a scrap of paper, and +writing down upon it, an obscure address by the water-side, in characters that +betrayed his agitation; “at nine in the evening, bring her to me there. I +needn’t tell you to be secret. It’s your interest.” +</p> + +<p> +With these words, he led the way to the door, after stopping to pay for the +liquor that had been drunk. Shortly remarking that their roads were different, +he departed, without more ceremony than an emphatic repetition of the hour of +appointment for the following night. +</p> + +<p> +On glancing at the address, the parochial functionary observed that it +contained no name. The stranger had not gone far, so he made after him to ask +it. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you want?” cried the man, turning quickly round, as Bumble touched him +on the arm. “Following me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only to ask a question,” said the other, pointing to the scrap of paper. “What +name am I to ask for?” +</p> + +<p> +“Monks!” rejoined the man; and strode hastily away. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap38"></a> CHAPTER XXXVIII.<br/> +CONTAINING AN ACCOUNT OF WHAT PASSED BETWEEN MR. AND MRS. BUMBLE, AND MR. +MONKS, AT THEIR NOCTURNAL INTERVIEW</h2> + +<p> +It was a dull, close, overcast summer evening. The clouds, which had been +threatening all day, spread out in a dense and sluggish mass of vapour, already +yielded large drops of rain, and seemed to presage a violent thunder-storm, +when Mr. and Mrs. Bumble, turning out of the main street of the town, directed +their course towards a scattered little colony of ruinous houses, distant from +it some mile and a-half, or thereabouts, and erected on a low unwholesome +swamp, bordering upon the river. +</p> + +<p> +They were both wrapped in old and shabby outer garments, which might, perhaps, +serve the double purpose of protecting their persons from the rain, and +sheltering them from observation. The husband carried a lantern, from which, +however, no light yet shone; and trudged on, a few paces in front, as +though—the way being dirty—to give his wife the benefit of treading in his +heavy footprints. They went on, in profound silence; every now and then, Mr. +Bumble relaxed his pace, and turned his head as if to make sure that his +helpmate was following; then, discovering that she was close at his heels, he +mended his rate of walking, and proceeded, at a considerable increase of speed, +towards their place of destination. +</p> + +<p> +This was far from being a place of doubtful character; for it had long been +known as the residence of none but low ruffians, who, under various pretences +of living by their labour, subsisted chiefly on plunder and crime. It was a +collection of mere hovels: some, hastily built with loose bricks: others, of +old worm-eaten ship-timber: jumbled together without any attempt at order or +arrangement, and planted, for the most part, within a few feet of the river’s +bank. A few leaky boats drawn up on the mud, and made fast to the dwarf wall +which skirted it: and here and there an oar or coil of rope: appeared, at +first, to indicate that the inhabitants of these miserable cottages pursued +some avocation on the river; but a glance at the shattered and useless +condition of the articles thus displayed, would have led a passer-by, without +much difficulty, to the conjecture that they were disposed there, rather for +the preservation of appearances, than with any view to their being actually +employed. +</p> + +<p> +In the heart of this cluster of huts; and skirting the river, which its upper +stories overhung; stood a large building, formerly used as a manufactory of +some kind. It had, in its day, probably furnished employment to the inhabitants +of the surrounding tenements. But it had long since gone to ruin. The rat, the +worm, and the action of the damp, had weakened and rotted the piles on which it +stood; and a considerable portion of the building had already sunk down into +the water; while the remainder, tottering and bending over the dark stream, +seemed to wait a favourable opportunity of following its old companion, and +involving itself in the same fate. +</p> + +<p> +It was before this ruinous building that the worthy couple paused, as the first +peal of distant thunder reverberated in the air, and the rain commenced pouring +violently down. +</p> + +<p> +“The place should be somewhere here,” said Bumble, consulting a scrap of paper +he held in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Halloa there!” cried a voice from above. +</p> + +<p> +Following the sound, Mr. Bumble raised his head and descried a man looking out +of a door, breast-high, on the second story. +</p> + +<p> +“Stand still, a minute,” cried the voice; “I’ll be with you directly.” With +which the head disappeared, and the door closed. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that the man?” asked Mr. Bumble’s good lady. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble nodded in the affirmative. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, mind what I told you,” said the matron: “and be careful to say as little +as you can, or you’ll betray us at once.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble, who had eyed the building with very rueful looks, was apparently +about to express some doubts relative to the advisability of proceeding any +further with the enterprise just then, when he was prevented by the appearance +of Monks: who opened a small door, near which they stood, and beckoned them +inwards. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in!” he cried impatiently, stamping his foot upon the ground. “Don’t keep +me here!” +</p> + +<p> +The woman, who had hesitated at first, walked boldly in, without any other +invitation. Mr. Bumble, who was ashamed or afraid to lag behind, followed: +obviously very ill at ease and with scarcely any of that remarkable dignity +which was usually his chief characteristic. +</p> + +<p> +“What the devil made you stand lingering there, in the wet?” said Monks, +turning round, and addressing Bumble, after he had bolted the door behind them. +</p> + +<p> +“We—we were only cooling ourselves,” stammered Bumble, looking apprehensively +about him. +</p> + +<p> +“Cooling yourselves!” retorted Monks. “Not all the rain that ever fell, or ever +will fall, will put as much of hell’s fire out, as a man can carry about with +him. You won’t cool yourself so easily; don’t think it!” +</p> + +<p> +With this agreeable speech, Monks turned short upon the matron, and bent his +gaze upon her, till even she, who was not easily cowed, was fain to withdraw +her eyes, and turn them towards the ground. +</p> + +<p> +“This is the woman, is it?” demanded Monks. +</p> + +<p> +“Hem! That is the woman,” replied Mr. Bumble, mindful of his wife’s caution. +</p> + +<p> +“You think women never can keep secrets, I suppose?” said the matron, +interposing, and returning, as she spoke, the searching look of Monks. +</p> + +<p> +“I know they will always keep <i>one</i> till it’s found out,” said Monks. +</p> + +<p> +“And what may that be?” asked the matron. +</p> + +<p> +“The loss of their own good name,” replied Monks. “So, by the same rule, if a +woman’s a party to a secret that might hang or transport her, I’m not afraid of +her telling it to anybody; not I! Do you understand, mistress?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” rejoined the matron, slightly colouring as she spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you don’t!” said Monks. “How should you?” +</p> + +<p> +Bestowing something half-way between a smile and a frown upon his two +companions, and again beckoning them to follow him, the man hastened across the +apartment, which was of considerable extent, but low in the roof. He was +preparing to ascend a steep staircase, or rather ladder, leading to another +floor of warehouses above: when a bright flash of lightning streamed down the +aperture, and a peal of thunder followed, which shook the crazy building to its +centre. +</p> + +<p> +“Hear it!” he cried, shrinking back. “Hear it! Rolling and crashing on as if it +echoed through a thousand caverns where the devils were hiding from it. I hate +the sound!” +</p> + +<p> +He remained silent for a few moments; and then, removing his hands suddenly +from his face, showed, to the unspeakable discomposure of Mr. Bumble, that it +was much distorted and discoloured. +</p> + +<p> +“These fits come over me, now and then,” said Monks, observing his alarm; “and +thunder sometimes brings them on. Don’t mind me now; it’s all over for this +once.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus speaking, he led the way up the ladder; and hastily closing the +window-shutter of the room into which it led, lowered a lantern which hung at +the end of a rope and pulley passed through one of the heavy beams in the +ceiling: and which cast a dim light upon an old table and three chairs that +were placed beneath it. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said Monks, when they had all three seated themselves, “the sooner we +come to our business, the better for all. The woman know what it is, does she?” +</p> + +<p> +The question was addressed to Bumble; but his wife anticipated the reply, by +intimating that she was perfectly acquainted with it. +</p> + +<p> +“He is right in saying that you were with this hag the night she died; and that +she told you something—” +</p> + +<p> +“About the mother of the boy you named,” replied the matron interrupting him. +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“The first question is, of what nature was her communication?” said Monks. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the second,” observed the woman with much deliberation. “The first is, +what may the communication be worth?” +</p> + +<p> +“Who the devil can tell that, without knowing of what kind it is?” asked Monks. +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody better than you, I am persuaded,” answered Mrs. Bumble: who did not +want for spirit, as her yoke-fellow could abundantly testify. +</p> + +<p> +“Humph!” said Monks significantly, and with a look of eager inquiry; “there may +be money’s worth to get, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps there may,” was the composed reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Something that was taken from her,” said Monks. “Something that she wore. +Something that—” +</p> + +<p> +“You had better bid,” interrupted Mrs. Bumble. “I have heard enough, already, +to assure me that you are the man I ought to talk to.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble, who had not yet been admitted by his better half into any greater +share of the secret than he had originally possessed, listened to this dialogue +with outstretched neck and distended eyes: which he directed towards his wife +and Monks, by turns, in undisguised astonishment; increased, if possible, when +the latter sternly demanded, what sum was required for the disclosure. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s it worth to you?” asked the woman, as collectedly as before. +</p> + +<p> +“It may be nothing; it may be twenty pounds,” replied Monks. “Speak out, and +let me know which.” +</p> + +<p> +“Add five pounds to the sum you have named; give me five-and-twenty pounds in +gold,” said the woman; “and I’ll tell you all I know. Not before.” +</p> + +<p> +“Five-and-twenty pounds!” exclaimed Monks, drawing back. +</p> + +<p> +“I spoke as plainly as I could,” replied Mrs. Bumble. “It’s not a large sum, +either.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a large sum for a paltry secret, that may be nothing when it’s told!” +cried Monks impatiently; “and which has been lying dead for twelve years past +or more!” +</p> + +<p> +“Such matters keep well, and, like good wine, often double their value in +course of time,” answered the matron, still preserving the resolute +indifference she had assumed. “As to lying dead, there are those who will lie +dead for twelve thousand years to come, or twelve million, for anything you or +I know, who will tell strange tales at last!” +</p> + +<p> +“What if I pay it for nothing?” asked Monks, hesitating. +</p> + +<p> +“You can easily take it away again,” replied the matron. “I am but a woman; +alone here; and unprotected.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not alone, my dear, nor unprotected, neither,” submitted Mr. Bumble, in a +voice tremulous with fear: “<i>I</i> am here, my dear. And besides,” said Mr. +Bumble, his teeth chattering as he spoke, “Mr. Monks is too much of a gentleman +to attempt any violence on porochial persons. Mr. Monks is aware that I am not +a young man, my dear, and also that I am a little run to seed, as I may say; +but he has heerd: I say I have no doubt Mr. Monks has heerd, my dear: that I am +a very determined officer, with very uncommon strength, if I’m once roused. I +only want a little rousing; that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +As Mr. Bumble spoke, he made a melancholy feint of grasping his lantern with +fierce determination; and plainly showed, by the alarmed expression of every +feature, that he <i>did</i> want a little rousing, and not a little, prior to +making any very warlike demonstration: unless, indeed, against paupers, or +other person or persons trained down for the purpose. +</p> + +<p> +“You are a fool,” said Mrs. Bumble, in reply; “and had better hold your +tongue.” +</p> + +<p> +“He had better have cut it out, before he came, if he can’t speak in a lower +tone,” said Monks, grimly. “So! He’s your husband, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“He my husband!” tittered the matron, parrying the question. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought as much, when you came in,” rejoined Monks, marking the angry glance +which the lady darted at her spouse as she spoke. “So much the better; I have +less hesitation in dealing with two people, when I find that there’s only one +will between them. I’m in earnest. See here!” +</p> + +<p> +He thrust his hand into a side-pocket; and producing a canvas bag, told out +twenty-five sovereigns on the table, and pushed them over to the woman. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” he said, “gather them up; and when this cursed peal of thunder, which I +feel is coming up to break over the house-top, is gone, let’s hear your story.” +</p> + +<p> +The thunder, which seemed in fact much nearer, and to shiver and break almost +over their heads, having subsided, Monks, raising his face from the table, bent +forward to listen to what the woman should say. The faces of the three nearly +touched, as the two men leant over the small table in their eagerness to hear, +and the woman also leant forward to render her whisper audible. The sickly rays +of the suspended lantern falling directly upon them, aggravated the paleness +and anxiety of their countenances: which, encircled by the deepest gloom and +darkness, looked ghastly in the extreme. +</p> + +<p> +“When this woman, that we called old Sally, died,” the matron began, “she and I +were alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was there no one by?” asked Monks, in the same hollow whisper; “No sick wretch +or idiot in some other bed? No one who could hear, and might, by possibility, +understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a soul,” replied the woman; “we were alone. <i>I</i> stood alone beside +the body when death came over it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good,” said Monks, regarding her attentively. “Go on.” +</p> + +<p> +“She spoke of a young creature,” resumed the matron, “who had brought a child +into the world some years before; not merely in the same room, but in the same +bed, in which she then lay dying.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay?” said Monks, with quivering lip, and glancing over his shoulder, “Blood! +How things come about!” +</p> + +<p> +“The child was the one you named to him last night,” said the matron, nodding +carelessly towards her husband; “the mother this nurse had robbed.” +</p> + +<p> +“In life?” asked Monks. +</p> + +<p> +“In death,” replied the woman, with something like a shudder. “She stole from +the corpse, when it had hardly turned to one, that which the dead mother had +prayed her, with her last breath, to keep for the infant’s sake.” +</p> + +<p> +“She sold it,” cried Monks, with desperate eagerness; “did she sell it? Where? +When? To whom? How long before?” +</p> + +<p> +“As she told me, with great difficulty, that she had done this,” said the +matron, “she fell back and died.” +</p> + +<p> +“Without saying more?” cried Monks, in a voice which, from its very +suppression, seemed only the more furious. “It’s a lie! I’ll not be played +with. She said more. I’ll tear the life out of you both, but I’ll know what it +was.” +</p> + +<p> +“She didn’t utter another word,” said the woman, to all appearance unmoved (as +Mr. Bumble was very far from being) by the strange man’s violence; “but she +clutched my gown, violently, with one hand, which was partly closed; and when I +saw that she was dead, and so removed the hand by force, I found it clasped a +scrap of dirty paper.” +</p> + +<p> +“Which contained—” interposed Monks, stretching forward. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” replied the woman; “it was a pawnbroker’s duplicate.” +</p> + +<p> +“For what?” demanded Monks. +</p> + +<p> +“In good time I’ll tell you.” said the woman. “I judge that she had kept the +trinket, for some time, in the hope of turning it to better account; and then +had pawned it; and had saved or scraped together money to pay the pawnbroker’s +interest year by year, and prevent its running out; so that if anything came of +it, it could still be redeemed. Nothing had come of it; and, as I tell you, she +died with the scrap of paper, all worn and tattered, in her hand. The time was +out in two days; I thought something might one day come of it too; and so +redeemed the pledge.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is it now?” asked Monks quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>There</i>,” replied the woman. And, as if glad to be relieved of it, she +hastily threw upon the table a small kid bag scarcely large enough for a French +watch, which Monks pouncing upon, tore open with trembling hands. It contained +a little gold locket: in which were two locks of hair, and a plain gold +wedding-ring. +</p> + +<p> +“It has the word ‘Agnes’ engraved on the inside,” said the woman. +</p> + +<p> +“There is a blank left for the surname; and then follows the date; which is +within a year before the child was born. I found out that.” +</p> + +<p> +“And this is all?” said Monks, after a close and eager scrutiny of the contents +of the little packet. +</p> + +<p> +“All,” replied the woman. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bumble drew a long breath, as if he were glad to find that the story was +over, and no mention made of taking the five-and-twenty pounds back again; and +now he took courage to wipe the perspiration which had been trickling over his +nose, unchecked, during the whole of the previous dialogue. +</p> + +<p> +“I know nothing of the story, beyond what I can guess at,” said his wife +addressing Monks, after a short silence; “and I want to know nothing; for it’s +safer not. But I may ask you two questions, may I?” +</p> + +<p> +“You may ask,” said Monks, with some show of surprise; “but whether I answer or +not is another question.” +</p> + +<p> +“—Which makes three,” observed Mr. Bumble, essaying a stroke of facetiousness. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that what you expected to get from me?” demanded the matron. +</p> + +<p> +“It is,” replied Monks. “The other question?” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you propose to do with it? Can it be used against me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never,” rejoined Monks; “nor against me either. See here! But don’t move a +step forward, or your life is not worth a bulrush.” +</p> + +<p> +With these words, he suddenly wheeled the table aside, and pulling an iron ring +in the boarding, threw back a large trap-door which opened close at Mr. +Bumble’s feet, and caused that gentleman to retire several paces backward, with +great precipitation. +</p> + +<p> +“Look down,” said Monks, lowering the lantern into the gulf. “Don’t fear me. I +could have let you down, quietly enough, when you were seated over it, if that +had been my game.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus encouraged, the matron drew near to the brink; and even Mr. Bumble +himself, impelled by curiousity, ventured to do the same. The turbid water, +swollen by the heavy rain, was rushing rapidly on below; and all other sounds +were lost in the noise of its plashing and eddying against the green and slimy +piles. There had once been a water-mill beneath; the tide foaming and chafing +round the few rotten stakes, and fragments of machinery that yet remained, +seemed to dart onward, with a new impulse, when freed from the obstacles which +had unavailingly attempted to stem its headlong course. +</p> + +<p> +“If you flung a man’s body down there, where would it be tomorrow morning?” +said Monks, swinging the lantern to and fro in the dark well. +</p> + +<p> +“Twelve miles down the river, and cut to pieces besides,” replied Bumble, +recoiling at the thought. +</p> + +<p> +Monks drew the little packet from his breast, where he had hurriedly thrust it; +and tying it to a leaden weight, which had formed a part of some pulley, and +was lying on the floor, dropped it into the stream. It fell straight, and true +as a die; clove the water with a scarcely audible splash; and was gone. +</p> + +<p> +The three looking into each other’s faces, seemed to breathe more freely. +</p> + +<p> +“There!” said Monks, closing the trap-door, which fell heavily back into its +former position. “If the sea ever gives up its dead, as books say it will, it +will keep its gold and silver to itself, and that trash among it. We have +nothing more to say, and may break up our pleasant party.” +</p> + +<p> +“By all means,” observed Mr. Bumble, with great alacrity. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll keep a quiet tongue in your head, will you?” said Monks, with a +threatening look. “I am not afraid of your wife.” +</p> + +<p> +“You may depend upon me, young man,” answered Mr. Bumble, bowing himself +gradually towards the ladder, with excessive politeness. “On everybody’s +account, young man; on my own, you know, Mr. Monks.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad, for your sake, to hear it,” remarked Monks. “Light your lantern! +And get away from here as fast as you can.” +</p> + +<p> +It was fortunate that the conversation terminated at this point, or Mr. Bumble, +who had bowed himself to within six inches of the ladder, would infallibly have +pitched headlong into the room below. He lighted his lantern from that which +Monks had detached from the rope, and now carried in his hand; and making no +effort to prolong the discourse, descended in silence, followed by his wife. +Monks brought up the rear, after pausing on the steps to satisfy himself that +there were no other sounds to be heard than the beating of the rain without, +and the rushing of the water. +</p> + +<p> +They traversed the lower room, slowly, and with caution; for Monks started at +every shadow; and Mr. Bumble, holding his lantern a foot above the ground, +walked not only with remarkable care, but with a marvellously light step for a +gentleman of his figure: looking nervously about him for hidden trap-doors. The +gate at which they had entered, was softly unfastened and opened by Monks; +merely exchanging a nod with their mysterious acquaintance, the married couple +emerged into the wet and darkness outside. +</p> + +<p> +They were no sooner gone, than Monks, who appeared to entertain an invincible +repugnance to being left alone, called to a boy who had been hidden somewhere +below. Bidding him go first, and bear the light, he returned to the chamber he +had just quitted. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap39"></a> CHAPTER XXXIX.<br/> +INTRODUCES SOME RESPECTABLE CHARACTERS WITH WHOM THE READER IS ALREADY +ACQUAINTED, AND SHOWS HOW MONKS AND THE JEW LAID THEIR WORTHY HEADS +TOGETHER</h2> + +<p> +On the evening following that upon which the three worthies mentioned in the +last chapter, disposed of their little matter of business as therein narrated, +Mr. William Sikes, awakening from a nap, drowsily growled forth an inquiry what +time of night it was. +</p> + +<p> +The room in which Mr. Sikes propounded this question, was not one of those he +had tenanted, previous to the Chertsey expedition, although it was in the same +quarter of the town, and was situated at no great distance from his former +lodgings. It was not, in appearance, so desirable a habitation as his old +quarters: being a mean and badly-furnished apartment, of very limited size; +lighted only by one small window in the shelving roof, and abutting on a close +and dirty lane. Nor were there wanting other indications of the good +gentleman’s having gone down in the world of late: for a great scarcity of +furniture, and total absence of comfort, together with the disappearance of all +such small moveables as spare clothes and linen, bespoke a state of extreme +poverty; while the meagre and attenuated condition of Mr. Sikes himself would +have fully confirmed these symptoms, if they had stood in any need of +corroboration. +</p> + +<p> +The housebreaker was lying on the bed, wrapped in his white great-coat, by way +of dressing-gown, and displaying a set of features in no degree improved by the +cadaverous hue of illness, and the addition of a soiled nightcap, and a stiff, +black beard of a week’s growth. The dog sat at the bedside: now eyeing his +master with a wistful look, and now pricking his ears, and uttering a low growl +as some noise in the street, or in the lower part of the house, attracted his +attention. Seated by the window, busily engaged in patching an old waistcoat +which formed a portion of the robber’s ordinary dress, was a female: so pale +and reduced with watching and privation, that there would have been +considerable difficulty in recognising her as the same Nancy who has already +figured in this tale, but for the voice in which she replied to Mr. Sikes’s +question. +</p> + +<p> +“Not long gone seven,” said the girl. “How do you feel tonight, Bill?” +</p> + +<p> +“As weak as water,” replied Mr. Sikes, with an imprecation on his eyes and +limbs. “Here; lend us a hand, and let me get off this thundering bed anyhow.” +</p> + +<p> +Illness had not improved Mr. Sikes’s temper; for, as the girl raised him up and +led him to a chair, he muttered various curses on her awkwardness, and struck +her. +</p> + +<p> +“Whining are you?” said Sikes. “Come! Don’t stand snivelling there. If you +can’t do anything better than that, cut off altogether. D’ye hear me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I hear you,” replied the girl, turning her face aside, and forcing a laugh. +“What fancy have you got in your head now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! you’ve thought better of it, have you?” growled Sikes, marking the tear +which trembled in her eye. “All the better for you, you have.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you don’t mean to say, you’d be hard upon me tonight, Bill,” said the +girl, laying her hand upon his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“No!” cried Mr. Sikes. “Why not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Such a number of nights,” said the girl, with a touch of woman’s tenderness, +which communicated something like sweetness of tone, even to her voice: “such a +number of nights as I’ve been patient with you, nursing and caring for you, as +if you had been a child: and this the first that I’ve seen you like yourself; +you wouldn’t have served me as you did just now, if you’d thought of that, +would you? Come, come; say you wouldn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then,” rejoined Mr. Sikes, “I wouldn’t. Why, damme, now, the girls’s +whining again!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s nothing,” said the girl, throwing herself into a chair. “Don’t you seem +to mind me. It’ll soon be over.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’ll be over?” demanded Mr. Sikes in a savage voice. “What foolery are you +up to, now, again? Get up and bustle about, and don’t come over me with your +woman’s nonsense.” +</p> + +<p> +At any other time, this remonstrance, and the tone in which it was delivered, +would have had the desired effect; but the girl being really weak and +exhausted, dropped her head over the back of the chair, and fainted, before Mr. +Sikes could get out a few of the appropriate oaths with which, on similar +occasions, he was accustomed to garnish his threats. Not knowing, very well, +what to do, in this uncommon emergency; for Miss Nancy’s hysterics were usually +of that violent kind which the patient fights and struggles out of, without +much assistance; Mr. Sikes tried a little blasphemy: and finding that mode of +treatment wholly ineffectual, called for assistance. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter here, my dear?” said Fagin, looking in. +</p> + +<p> +“Lend a hand to the girl, can’t you?” replied Sikes impatiently. “Don’t stand +chattering and grinning at me!” +</p> + +<p> +With an exclamation of surprise, Fagin hastened to the girl’s assistance, while +Mr. John Dawkins (otherwise the Artful Dodger), who had followed his venerable +friend into the room, hastily deposited on the floor a bundle with which he was +laden; and snatching a bottle from the grasp of Master Charles Bates who came +close at his heels, uncorked it in a twinkling with his teeth, and poured a +portion of its contents down the patient’s throat: previously taking a taste, +himself, to prevent mistakes. +</p> + +<p> +“Give her a whiff of fresh air with the bellows, Charley,” said Mr. Dawkins; +“and you slap her hands, Fagin, while Bill undoes the petticuts.” +</p> + +<p> +These united restoratives, administered with great energy: especially that +department consigned to Master Bates, who appeared to consider his share in the +proceedings, a piece of unexampled pleasantry: were not long in producing the +desired effect. The girl gradually recovered her senses; and, staggering to a +chair by the bedside, hid her face upon the pillow: leaving Mr. Sikes to +confront the new comers, in some astonishment at their unlooked-for appearance. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, what evil wind has blowed you here?” he asked Fagin. +</p> + +<p> +“No evil wind at all, my dear, for evil winds blow nobody any good; and I’ve +brought something good with me, that you’ll be glad to see. Dodger, my dear, +open the bundle; and give Bill the little trifles that we spent all our money +on, this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +In compliance with Mr. Fagin’s request, the Artful untied this bundle, which +was of large size, and formed of an old table-cloth; and handed the articles it +contained, one by one, to Charley Bates: who placed them on the table, with +various encomiums on their rarity and excellence. +</p> + +<p> +“Sitch a rabbit pie, Bill,” exclaimed that young gentleman, disclosing to view +a huge pasty; “sitch delicate creeturs, with sitch tender limbs, Bill, that the +wery bones melt in your mouth, and there’s no occasion to pick ’em; half a +pound of seven and six-penny green, so precious strong that if you mix it with +biling water, it’ll go nigh to blow the lid of the tea-pot off; a pound and a +half of moist sugar that the niggers didn’t work at all at, afore they got it +up to sitch a pitch of goodness,—oh no! Two half-quartern brans; pound of best +fresh; piece of double Glo’ster; and, to wind up all, some of the richest sort +you ever lushed!” +</p> + +<p> +Uttering this last panegyric, Master Bates produced, from one of his extensive +pockets, a full-sized wine-bottle, carefully corked; while Mr. Dawkins, at the +same instant, poured out a wine-glassful of raw spirits from the bottle he +carried: which the invalid tossed down his throat without a moment’s +hesitation. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Fagin, rubbing his hands with great satisfaction. “You’ll do, Bill; +you’ll do now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do!” exclaimed Mr. Sikes; “I might have been done for, twenty times over, +afore you’d have done anything to help me. What do you mean by leaving a man in +this state, three weeks and more, you false-hearted wagabond?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only hear him, boys!” said Fagin, shrugging his shoulders. “And us come to +bring him all these beau-ti-ful things.” +</p> + +<p> +“The things is well enough in their way,” observed Mr. Sikes: a little soothed +as he glanced over the table; “but what have you got to say for yourself, why +you should leave me here, down in the mouth, health, blunt, and everything +else; and take no more notice of me, all this mortal time, than if I was that +’ere dog.—Drive him down, Charley!” +</p> + +<p> +“I never see such a jolly dog as that,” cried Master Bates, doing as he was +desired. “Smelling the grub like a old lady a going to market! He’d make his +fortun’ on the stage that dog would, and rewive the drayma besides.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hold your din,” cried Sikes, as the dog retreated under the bed: still +growling angrily. “What have you got to say for yourself, you withered old +fence, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was away from London, a week and more, my dear, on a plant,” replied the +Jew. +</p> + +<p> +“And what about the other fortnight?” demanded Sikes. “What about the other +fortnight that you’ve left me lying here, like a sick rat in his hole?” +</p> + +<p> +“I couldn’t help it, Bill. I can’t go into a long explanation before company; +but I couldn’t help it, upon my honour.” +</p> + +<p> +“Upon your what?” growled Sikes, with excessive disgust. “Here! Cut me off a +piece of that pie, one of you boys, to take the taste of that out of my mouth, +or it’ll choke me dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be out of temper, my dear,” urged Fagin, submissively. “I have never +forgot you, Bill; never once.” +</p> + +<p> +“No! I’ll pound it that you han’t,” replied Sikes, with a bitter grin. “You’ve +been scheming and plotting away, every hour that I have laid shivering and +burning here; and Bill was to do this; and Bill was to do that; and Bill was to +do it all, dirt cheap, as soon as he got well: and was quite poor enough for +your work. If it hadn’t been for the girl, I might have died.” +</p> + +<p> +“There now, Bill,” remonstrated Fagin, eagerly catching at the word. “If it +hadn’t been for the girl! Who but poor ould Fagin was the means of your having +such a handy girl about you?” +</p> + +<p> +“He says true enough there!” said Nancy, coming hastily forward. “Let him be; +let him be.” +</p> + +<p> +Nancy’s appearance gave a new turn to the conversation; for the boys, receiving +a sly wink from the wary old Jew, began to ply her with liquor: of which, +however, she took very sparingly; while Fagin, assuming an unusual flow of +spirits, gradually brought Mr. Sikes into a better temper, by affecting to +regard his threats as a little pleasant banter; and, moreover, by laughing very +heartily at one or two rough jokes, which, after repeated applications to the +spirit-bottle, he condescended to make. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all very well,” said Mr. Sikes; “but I must have some blunt from you +tonight.” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t a piece of coin about me,” replied the Jew. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you’ve got lots at home,” retorted Sikes; “and I must have some from +there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lots!” cried Fagin, holding up his hands. “I haven’t so much as would—” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know how much you’ve got, and I dare say you hardly know yourself, as +it would take a pretty long time to count it,” said Sikes; “but I must have +some tonight; and that’s flat.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well,” said Fagin, with a sigh, “I’ll send the Artful round presently.” +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t do nothing of the kind,” rejoined Mr. Sikes. “The Artful’s a deal +too artful, and would forget to come, or lose his way, or get dodged by traps +and so be perwented, or anything for an excuse, if you put him up to it. Nancy +shall go to the ken and fetch it, to make all sure; and I’ll lie down and have +a snooze while she’s gone.” +</p> + +<p> +After a great deal of haggling and squabbling, Fagin beat down the amount of +the required advance from five pounds to three pounds four and sixpence: +protesting with many solemn asseverations that that would only leave him +eighteen-pence to keep house with; Mr. Sikes sullenly remarking that if he +couldn’t get any more he must accompany him home; with the Dodger and Master +Bates put the eatables in the cupboard. The Jew then, taking leave of his +affectionate friend, returned homeward, attended by Nancy and the boys: Mr. +Sikes, meanwhile, flinging himself on the bed, and composing himself to sleep +away the time until the young lady’s return. +</p> + +<p> +In due course, they arrived at Fagin’s abode, where they found Toby Crackit and +Mr. Chitling intent upon their fifteenth game at cribbage, which it is scarcely +necessary to say the latter gentleman lost, and with it, his fifteenth and last +sixpence: much to the amusement of his young friends. Mr. Crackit, apparently +somewhat ashamed at being found relaxing himself with a gentleman so much his +inferior in station and mental endowments, yawned, and inquiring after Sikes, +took up his hat to go. +</p> + +<p> +“Has nobody been, Toby?” asked Fagin. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a living leg,” answered Mr. Crackit, pulling up his collar; “it’s been as +dull as swipes. You ought to stand something handsome, Fagin, to recompense me +for keeping house so long. Damme, I’m as flat as a juryman; and should have +gone to sleep, as fast as Newgate, if I hadn’t had the good natur’ to amuse +this youngster. Horrid dull, I’m blessed if I an’t!” +</p> + +<p> +With these and other ejaculations of the same kind, Mr. Toby Crackit swept up +his winnings, and crammed them into his waistcoat pocket with a haughty air, as +though such small pieces of silver were wholly beneath the consideration of a +man of his figure; this done, he swaggered out of the room, with so much +elegance and gentility, that Mr. Chitling, bestowing numerous admiring glances +on his legs and boots till they were out of sight, assured the company that he +considered his acquaintance cheap at fifteen sixpences an interview, and that +he didn’t value his losses the snap of his little finger. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot a rum chap you are, Tom!” said Master Bates, highly amused by this +declaration. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a bit of it,” replied Mr. Chitling. “Am I, Fagin?” +</p> + +<p> +“A very clever fellow, my dear,” said Fagin, patting him on the shoulder, and +winking to his other pupils. +</p> + +<p> +“And Mr. Crackit is a heavy swell; an’t he, Fagin?” asked Tom. +</p> + +<p> +“No doubt at all of that, my dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“And it is a creditable thing to have his acquaintance; an’t it, Fagin?” +pursued Tom. +</p> + +<p> +“Very much so, indeed, my dear. They’re only jealous, Tom, because he won’t +give it to them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” cried Tom, triumphantly, “that’s where it is! He has cleaned me out. But +I can go and earn some more, when I like; can’t I, Fagin?” +</p> + +<p> +“To be sure you can, and the sooner you go the better, Tom; so make up your +loss at once, and don’t lose any more time. Dodger! Charley! It’s time you were +on the lay. Come! It’s near ten, and nothing done yet.” +</p> + +<p> +In obedience to this hint, the boys, nodding to Nancy, took up their hats, and +left the room; the Dodger and his vivacious friend indulging, as they went, in +many witticisms at the expense of Mr. Chitling; in whose conduct, it is but +justice to say, there was nothing very conspicuous or peculiar: inasmuch as +there are a great number of spirited young bloods upon town, who pay a much +higher price than Mr. Chitling for being seen in good society: and a great +number of fine gentlemen (composing the good society aforesaid) who established +their reputation upon very much the same footing as flash Toby Crackit. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said Fagin, when they had left the room, “I’ll go and get you that cash, +Nancy. This is only the key of a little cupboard where I keep a few odd things +the boys get, my dear. I never lock up my money, for I’ve got none to lock up, +my dear—ha! ha! ha!—none to lock up. It’s a poor trade, Nancy, and no thanks; +but I’m fond of seeing the young people about me; and I bear it all, I bear it +all. Hush!” he said, hastily concealing the key in his breast; “who’s that? +Listen!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl, who was sitting at the table with her arms folded, appeared in no way +interested in the arrival: or to care whether the person, whoever he was, came +or went: until the murmur of a man’s voice reached her ears. The instant she +caught the sound, she tore off her bonnet and shawl, with the rapidity of +lightning, and thrust them under the table. The Jew, turning round immediately +afterwards, she muttered a complaint of the heat: in a tone of languor that +contrasted, very remarkably, with the extreme haste and violence of this +action: which, however, had been unobserved by Fagin, who had his back towards +her at the time. +</p> + +<p> +“Bah!” he whispered, as though nettled by the interruption; “it’s the man I +expected before; he’s coming downstairs. Not a word about the money while he’s +here, Nance. He won’t stop long. Not ten minutes, my dear.” +</p> + +<p> +Laying his skinny forefinger upon his lip, the Jew carried a candle to the +door, as a man’s step was heard upon the stairs without. He reached it, at the +same moment as the visitor, who, coming hastily into the room, was close upon +the girl before he observed her. +</p> + +<p> +It was Monks. +</p> + +<p> +“Only one of my young people,” said Fagin, observing that Monks drew back, on +beholding a stranger. “Don’t move, Nancy.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl drew closer to the table, and glancing at Monks with an air of +careless levity, withdrew her eyes; but as he turned towards Fagin, she stole +another look; so keen and searching, and full of purpose, that if there had +been any bystander to observe the change, he could hardly have believed the two +looks to have proceeded from the same person. +</p> + +<p> +“Any news?” inquired Fagin. +</p> + +<p> +“Great.” +</p> + +<p> +“And—and—good?” asked Fagin, hesitating as though he feared to vex the other +man by being too sanguine. +</p> + +<p> +“Not bad, any way,” replied Monks with a smile. “I have been prompt enough this +time. Let me have a word with you.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl drew closer to the table, and made no offer to leave the room, +although she could see that Monks was pointing to her. The Jew: perhaps fearing +she might say something aloud about the money, if he endeavoured to get rid of +her: pointed upward, and took Monks out of the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Not that infernal hole we were in before,” she could hear the man say as they +went upstairs. Fagin laughed; and making some reply which did not reach her, +seemed, by the creaking of the boards, to lead his companion to the second +story. +</p> + +<p> +Before the sound of their footsteps had ceased to echo through the house, the +girl had slipped off her shoes; and drawing her gown loosely over her head, and +muffling her arms in it, stood at the door, listening with breathless interest. +The moment the noise ceased, she glided from the room; ascended the stairs with +incredible softness and silence; and was lost in the gloom above. +</p> + +<p> +The room remained deserted for a quarter of an hour or more; the girl glided +back with the same unearthly tread; and, immediately afterwards, the two men +were heard descending. Monks went at once into the street; and the Jew crawled +upstairs again for the money. When he returned, the girl was adjusting her +shawl and bonnet, as if preparing to be gone. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Nance!” exclaimed the Jew, starting back as he put down the candle, “how +pale you are!” +</p> + +<p> +“Pale!” echoed the girl, shading her eyes with her hands, as if to look +steadily at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite horrible. What have you been doing to yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing that I know of, except sitting in this close place for I don’t know +how long and all,” replied the girl carelessly. “Come! Let me get back; that’s +a dear.” +</p> + +<p> +With a sigh for every piece of money, Fagin told the amount into her hand. They +parted without more conversation, merely interchanging a “good-night.” +</p> + +<p> +When the girl got into the open street, she sat down upon a doorstep; and +seemed, for a few moments, wholly bewildered and unable to pursue her way. +Suddenly she arose; and hurrying on, in a direction quite opposite to that in +which Sikes was awaiting her return, quickened her pace, until it gradually +resolved into a violent run. After completely exhausting herself, she stopped +to take breath: and, as if suddenly recollecting herself, and deploring her +inability to do something she was bent upon, wrung her hands, and burst into +tears. +</p> + +<p> +It might be that her tears relieved her, or that she felt the full hopelessness +of her condition; but she turned back; and hurrying with nearly as great +rapidity in the contrary direction; partly to recover lost time, and partly to +keep pace with the violent current of her own thoughts: soon reached the +dwelling where she had left the housebreaker. +</p> + +<p> +If she betrayed any agitation, when she presented herself to Mr. Sikes, he did +not observe it; for merely inquiring if she had brought the money, and +receiving a reply in the affirmative, he uttered a growl of satisfaction, and +replacing his head upon the pillow, resumed the slumbers which her arrival had +interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +It was fortunate for her that the possession of money occasioned him so much +employment next day in the way of eating and drinking; and withal had so +beneficial an effect in smoothing down the asperities of his temper; that he +had neither time nor inclination to be very critical upon her behaviour and +deportment. That she had all the abstracted and nervous manner of one who is on +the eve of some bold and hazardous step, which it has required no common +struggle to resolve upon, would have been obvious to the lynx-eyed Fagin, who +would most probably have taken the alarm at once; but Mr. Sikes lacking the +niceties of discrimination, and being troubled with no more subtle misgivings +than those which resolve themselves into a dogged roughness of behaviour +towards everybody; and being, furthermore, in an unusually amiable condition, +as has been already observed; saw nothing unusual in her demeanor, and indeed, +troubled himself so little about her, that, had her agitation been far more +perceptible than it was, it would have been very unlikely to have awakened his +suspicions. +</p> + +<p> +As that day closed in, the girl’s excitement increased; and, when night came +on, and she sat by, watching until the housebreaker should drink himself +asleep, there was an unusual paleness in her cheek, and a fire in her eye, that +even Sikes observed with astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Sikes being weak from the fever, was lying in bed, taking hot water with +his gin to render it less inflammatory; and had pushed his glass towards Nancy +to be replenished for the third or fourth time, when these symptoms first +struck him. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, burn my body!” said the man, raising himself on his hands as he stared +the girl in the face. “You look like a corpse come to life again. What’s the +matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“Matter!” replied the girl. “Nothing. What do you look at me so hard for?” +</p> + +<p> +“What foolery is this?” demanded Sikes, grasping her by the arm, and shaking +her roughly. “What is it? What do you mean? What are you thinking of?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of many things, Bill,” replied the girl, shivering, and as she did so, +pressing her hands upon her eyes. “But, Lord! What odds in that?” +</p> + +<p> +The tone of forced gaiety in which the last words were spoken, seemed to +produce a deeper impression on Sikes than the wild and rigid look which had +preceded them. +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you wot it is,” said Sikes; “if you haven’t caught the fever, and got +it comin’ on, now, there’s something more than usual in the wind, and something +dangerous too. You’re not a-going to—. No, damme! you wouldn’t do that!” +</p> + +<p> +“Do what?” asked the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“There ain’t,” said Sikes, fixing his eyes upon her, and muttering the words to +himself; “there ain’t a stauncher-hearted gal going, or I’d have cut her throat +three months ago. She’s got the fever coming on; that’s it.” +</p> + +<p> +Fortifying himself with this assurance, Sikes drained the glass to the bottom, +and then, with many grumbling oaths, called for his physic. The girl jumped up, +with great alacrity; poured it quickly out, but with her back towards him; and +held the vessel to his lips, while he drank off the contents. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said the robber, “come and sit aside of me, and put on your own face; or +I’ll alter it so, that you won’t know it agin when you do want it.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl obeyed. Sikes, locking her hand in his, fell back upon the pillow: +turning his eyes upon her face. They closed; opened again; closed once more; +again opened. He shifted his position restlessly; and, after dozing again, and +again, for two or three minutes, and as often springing up with a look of +terror, and gazing vacantly about him, was suddenly stricken, as it were, while +in the very attitude of rising, into a deep and heavy sleep. The grasp of his +hand relaxed; the upraised arm fell languidly by his side; and he lay like one +in a profound trance. +</p> + +<p> +“The laudanum has taken effect at last,” murmured the girl, as she rose from +the bedside. “I may be too late, even now.” +</p> + +<p> +She hastily dressed herself in her bonnet and shawl: looking fearfully round, +from time to time, as if, despite the sleeping draught, she expected every +moment to feel the pressure of Sikes’s heavy hand upon her shoulder; then, +stooping softly over the bed, she kissed the robber’s lips; and then opening +and closing the room-door with noiseless touch, hurried from the house. +</p> + +<p> +A watchman was crying half-past nine, down a dark passage through which she had +to pass, in gaining the main thoroughfare. +</p> + +<p> +“Has it long gone the half-hour?” asked the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“It’ll strike the hour in another quarter,” said the man: raising his lantern +to her face. +</p> + +<p> +“And I cannot get there in less than an hour or more,” muttered Nancy: brushing +swiftly past him, and gliding rapidly down the street. +</p> + +<p> +Many of the shops were already closing in the back lanes and avenues through +which she tracked her way, in making from Spitalfields towards the West-End of +London. The clock struck ten, increasing her impatience. She tore along the +narrow pavement: elbowing the passengers from side to side; and darting almost +under the horses’ heads, crossed crowded streets, where clusters of persons +were eagerly watching their opportunity to do the like. +</p> + +<p> +“The woman is mad!” said the people, turning to look after her as she rushed +away. +</p> + +<p> +When she reached the more wealthy quarter of the town, the streets were +comparatively deserted; and here her headlong progress excited a still greater +curiosity in the stragglers whom she hurried past. Some quickened their pace +behind, as though to see whither she was hastening at such an unusual rate; and +a few made head upon her, and looked back, surprised at her undiminished speed; +but they fell off one by one; and when she neared her place of destination, she +was alone. +</p> + +<p> +It was a family hotel in a quiet but handsome street near Hyde Park. As the +brilliant light of the lamp which burnt before its door, guided her to the +spot, the clock struck eleven. She had loitered for a few paces as though +irresolute, and making up her mind to advance; but the sound determined her, +and she stepped into the hall. The porter’s seat was vacant. She looked round +with an air of incertitude, and advanced towards the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, young woman!” said a smartly-dressed female, looking out from a door +behind her, “who do you want here?” +</p> + +<p> +“A lady who is stopping in this house,” answered the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“A lady!” was the reply, accompanied with a scornful look. “What lady?” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Maylie,” said Nancy. +</p> + +<p> +The young woman, who had by this time, noted her appearance, replied only by a +look of virtuous disdain; and summoned a man to answer her. To him, Nancy +repeated her request. +</p> + +<p> +“What name am I to say?” asked the waiter. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s of no use saying any,” replied Nancy. +</p> + +<p> +“Nor business?” said the man. +</p> + +<p> +“No, nor that neither,” rejoined the girl. “I must see the lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come!” said the man, pushing her towards the door. “None of this. Take +yourself off.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be carried out if I go!” said the girl violently; “and I can make that +a job that two of you won’t like to do. Isn’t there anybody here,” she said, +looking round, “that will see a simple message carried for a poor wretch like +me?” +</p> + +<p> +This appeal produced an effect on a good-tempered-faced man-cook, who with some +of the other servants was looking on, and who stepped forward to interfere. +</p> + +<p> +“Take it up for her, Joe; can’t you?” said this person. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the good?” replied the man. “You don’t suppose the young lady will see +such as her; do you?” +</p> + +<p> +This allusion to Nancy’s doubtful character, raised a vast quantity of chaste +wrath in the bosoms of four housemaids, who remarked, with great fervour, that +the creature was a disgrace to her sex; and strongly advocated her being +thrown, ruthlessly, into the kennel. +</p> + +<p> +“Do what you like with me,” said the girl, turning to the men again; “but do +what I ask you first, and I ask you to give this message for God Almighty’s +sake.” +</p> + +<p> +The soft-hearted cook added his intercession, and the result was that the man +who had first appeared undertook its delivery. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s it to be?” said the man, with one foot on the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +“That a young woman earnestly asks to speak to Miss Maylie alone,” said Nancy; +“and that if the lady will only hear the first word she has to say, she will +know whether to hear her business, or to have her turned out of doors as an +impostor.” +</p> + +<p> +“I say,” said the man, “you’re coming it strong!” +</p> + +<p> +“You give the message,” said the girl firmly; “and let me hear the answer.” +</p> + +<p> +The man ran upstairs. Nancy remained, pale and almost breathless, listening +with quivering lip to the very audible expressions of scorn, of which the +chaste housemaids were very prolific; and of which they became still more so, +when the man returned, and said the young woman was to walk upstairs. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s no good being proper in this world,” said the first housemaid. +</p> + +<p> +“Brass can do better than the gold what has stood the fire,” said the second. +</p> + +<p> +The third contented herself with wondering “what ladies was made of”; and the +fourth took the first in a quartette of “Shameful!” with which the Dianas +concluded. +</p> + +<p> +Regardless of all this: for she had weightier matters at heart: Nancy followed +the man, with trembling limbs, to a small ante-chamber, lighted by a lamp from +the ceiling. Here he left her, and retired. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap40"></a> CHAPTER XL.<br/> +A STRANGE INTERVIEW, WHICH IS A SEQUEL TO THE LAST CHAMBER</h2> + +<p> +The girl’s life had been squandered in the streets, and among the most noisome +of the stews and dens of London, but there was something of the woman’s +original nature left in her still; and when she heard a light step approaching +the door opposite to that by which she had entered, and thought of the wide +contrast which the small room would in another moment contain, she felt +burdened with the sense of her own deep shame, and shrunk as though she could +scarcely bear the presence of her with whom she had sought this interview. +</p> + +<p> +But struggling with these better feelings was pride,—the vice of the lowest and +most debased creatures no less than of the high and self-assured. The miserable +companion of thieves and ruffians, the fallen outcast of low haunts, the +associate of the scourings of the jails and hulks, living within the shadow of +the gallows itself,—even this degraded being felt too proud to betray a feeble +gleam of the womanly feeling which she thought a weakness, but which alone +connected her with that humanity, of which her wasting life had obliterated so +many, many traces when a very child. +</p> + +<p> +She raised her eyes sufficiently to observe that the figure which presented +itself was that of a slight and beautiful girl; then, bending them on the +ground, she tossed her head with affected carelessness as she said: +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a hard matter to get to see you, lady. If I had taken offence, and gone +away, as many would have done, you’d have been sorry for it one day, and not +without reason either.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am very sorry if any one has behaved harshly to you,” replied Rose. “Do not +think of that. Tell me why you wished to see me. I am the person you inquired +for.” +</p> + +<p> +The kind tone of this answer, the sweet voice, the gentle manner, the absence +of any accent of haughtiness or displeasure, took the girl completely by +surprise, and she burst into tears. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, lady, lady!” she said, clasping her hands passionately before her face, +“if there was more like you, there would be fewer like me,—there would—there +would!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sit down,” said Rose, earnestly. “If you are in poverty or affliction I shall +be truly glad to relieve you if I can,—I shall indeed. Sit down.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me stand, lady,” said the girl, still weeping, “and do not speak to me so +kindly till you know me better. It is growing late. Is—is—that door shut?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Rose, recoiling a few steps, as if to be nearer assistance in case +she should require it. “Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because,” said the girl, “I am about to put my life and the lives of others in +your hands. I am the girl that dragged little Oliver back to old Fagin’s on the +night he went out from the house in Pentonville.” +</p> + +<p> +“You!” said Rose Maylie. +</p> + +<p> +“I, lady!” replied the girl. “I am the infamous creature you have heard of, +that lives among the thieves, and that never from the first moment I can +recollect my eyes and senses opening on London streets have known any better +life, or kinder words than they have given me, so help me God! Do not mind +shrinking openly from me, lady. I am younger than you would think, to look at +me, but I am well used to it. The poorest women fall back, as I make my way +along the crowded pavement.” +</p> + +<p> +“What dreadful things are these!” said Rose, involuntarily falling from her +strange companion. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank Heaven upon your knees, dear lady,” cried the girl, “that you had +friends to care for and keep you in your childhood, and that you were never in +the midst of cold and hunger, and riot and drunkenness, and—and—something worse +than all—as I have been from my cradle. I may use the word, for the alley and +the gutter were mine, as they will be my deathbed.” +</p> + +<p> +“I pity you!” said Rose, in a broken voice. “It wrings my heart to hear you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Heaven bless you for your goodness!” rejoined the girl. “If you knew what I am +sometimes, you would pity me, indeed. But I have stolen away from those who +would surely murder me, if they knew I had been here, to tell you what I have +overheard. Do you know a man named Monks?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“He knows you,” replied the girl; “and knew you were here, for it was by +hearing him tell the place that I found you out.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never heard the name,” said Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“Then he goes by some other amongst us,” rejoined the girl, “which I more than +thought before. Some time ago, and soon after Oliver was put into your house on +the night of the robbery, I—suspecting this man—listened to a conversation held +between him and Fagin in the dark. I found out, from what I heard, that +Monks—the man I asked you about, you know—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Rose, “I understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“—That Monks,” pursued the girl, “had seen him accidently with two of our boys +on the day we first lost him, and had known him directly to be the same child +that he was watching for, though I couldn’t make out why. A bargain was struck +with Fagin, that if Oliver was got back he should have a certain sum; and he +was to have more for making him a thief, which this Monks wanted for some +purpose of his own.” +</p> + +<p> +“For what purpose?” asked Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“He caught sight of my shadow on the wall as I listened, in the hope of finding +out,” said the girl; “and there are not many people besides me that could have +got out of their way in time to escape discovery. But I did; and I saw him no +more till last night.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what occurred then?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you, lady. Last night he came again. Again they went upstairs, and +I, wrapping myself up so that my shadow would not betray me, again listened at +the door. The first words I heard Monks say were these: ‘So the only proofs of +the boy’s identity lie at the bottom of the river, and the old hag that +received them from the mother is rotting in her coffin.’ They laughed, and +talked of his success in doing this; and Monks, talking on about the boy, and +getting very wild, said that though he had got the young devil’s money safely +now, he’d rather have had it the other way; for, what a game it would have been +to have brought down the boast of the father’s will, by driving him through +every jail in town, and then hauling him up for some capital felony which Fagin +could easily manage, after having made a good profit of him besides.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is all this!” said Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“The truth, lady, though it comes from my lips,” replied the girl. “Then, he +said, with oaths common enough in my ears, but strange to yours, that if he +could gratify his hatred by taking the boy’s life without bringing his own neck +in danger, he would; but, as he couldn’t, he’d be upon the watch to meet him at +every turn in life; and if he took advantage of his birth and history, he might +harm him yet. ‘In short, Fagin,’ he says, ‘Jew as you are, you never laid such +snares as I’ll contrive for my young brother, Oliver.’” +</p> + +<p> +“His brother!” exclaimed Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“Those were his words,” said Nancy, glancing uneasily round, as she had +scarcely ceased to do, since she began to speak, for a vision of Sikes haunted +her perpetually. “And more. When he spoke of you and the other lady, and said +it seemed contrived by Heaven, or the devil, against him, that Oliver should +come into your hands, he laughed, and said there was some comfort in that too, +for how many thousands and hundreds of thousands of pounds would you not give, +if you had them, to know who your two-legged spaniel was.” +</p> + +<p> +“You do not mean,” said Rose, turning very pale, “to tell me that this was said +in earnest?” +</p> + +<p> +“He spoke in hard and angry earnest, if a man ever did,” replied the girl, +shaking her head. “He is an earnest man when his hatred is up. I know many who +do worse things; but I’d rather listen to them all a dozen times, than to that +Monks once. It is growing late, and I have to reach home without suspicion of +having been on such an errand as this. I must get back quickly.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what can I do?” said Rose. “To what use can I turn this communication +without you? Back! Why do you wish to return to companions you paint in such +terrible colors? If you repeat this information to a gentleman whom I can +summon in an instant from the next room, you can be consigned to some place of +safety without half an hour’s delay.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish to go back,” said the girl. “I must go back, because—how can I tell +such things to an innocent lady like you?—because among the men I have told you +of, there is one: the most desperate among them all; that I can’t leave: no, +not even to be saved from the life I am leading now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your having interfered in this dear boy’s behalf before,” said Rose; “your +coming here, at so great a risk, to tell me what you have heard; your manner, +which convinces me of the truth of what you say; your evident contrition, and +sense of shame; all lead me to believe that you might yet be reclaimed. Oh!” +said the earnest girl, folding her hands as the tears coursed down her face, +“do not turn a deaf ear to the entreaties of one of your own sex; the first—the +first, I do believe, who ever appealed to you in the voice of pity and +compassion. Do hear my words, and let me save you yet, for better things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lady,” cried the girl, sinking on her knees, “dear, sweet, angel lady, you +<i>are</i> the first that ever blessed me with such words as these, and if I +had heard them years ago, they might have turned me from a life of sin and +sorrow; but it is too late, it is too late!” +</p> + +<p> +“It is never too late,” said Rose, “for penitence and atonement.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is,” cried the girl, writhing in agony of her mind; “I cannot leave him +now! I could not be his death.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why should you be?” asked Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing could save him,” cried the girl. “If I told others what I have told +you, and led to their being taken, he would be sure to die. He is the boldest, +and has been so cruel!” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it possible,” cried Rose, “that for such a man as this, you can resign +every future hope, and the certainty of immediate rescue? It is madness.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what it is,” answered the girl; “I only know that it is so, and +not with me alone, but with hundreds of others as bad and wretched as myself. I +must go back. Whether it is God’s wrath for the wrong I have done, I do not +know; but I am drawn back to him through every suffering and ill usage; and I +should be, I believe, if I knew that I was to die by his hand at last.” +</p> + +<p> +“What am I to do?” said Rose. “I should not let you depart from me thus.” +</p> + +<p> +“You should, lady, and I know you will,” rejoined the girl, rising. “You will +not stop my going because I have trusted in your goodness, and forced no +promise from you, as I might have done.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of what use, then, is the communication you have made?” said Rose. “This +mystery must be investigated, or how will its disclosure to me, benefit Oliver, +whom you are anxious to serve?” +</p> + +<p> +“You must have some kind gentleman about you that will hear it as a secret, and +advise you what to do,” rejoined the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“But where can I find you again when it is necessary?” asked Rose. “I do not +seek to know where these dreadful people live, but where will you be walking or +passing at any settled period from this time?” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you promise me that you will have my secret strictly kept, and come +alone, or with the only other person that knows it; and that I shall not be +watched or followed?” asked the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“I promise you solemnly,” answered Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“Every Sunday night, from eleven until the clock strikes twelve,” said the girl +without hesitation, “I will walk on London Bridge if I am alive.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stay another moment,” interposed Rose, as the girl moved hurriedly towards the +door. “Think once again on your own condition, and the opportunity you have of +escaping from it. You have a claim on me: not only as the voluntary bearer of +this intelligence, but as a woman lost almost beyond redemption. Will you +return to this gang of robbers, and to this man, when a word can save you? What +fascination is it that can take you back, and make you cling to wickedness and +misery? Oh! is there no chord in your heart that I can touch! Is there nothing +left, to which I can appeal against this terrible infatuation!” +</p> + +<p> +“When ladies as young, and good, and beautiful as you are,” replied the girl +steadily, “give away your hearts, love will carry you all lengths—even such as +you, who have home, friends, other admirers, everything, to fill them. When +such as I, who have no certain roof but the coffinlid, and no friend in +sickness or death but the hospital nurse, set our rotten hearts on any man, and +let him fill the place that has been a blank through all our wretched lives, +who can hope to cure us? Pity us, lady—pity us for having only one feeling of +the woman left, and for having that turned, by a heavy judgment, from a comfort +and a pride, into a new means of violence and suffering.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will,” said Rose, after a pause, “take some money from me, which may +enable you to live without dishonesty—at all events until we meet again?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a penny,” replied the girl, waving her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Do not close your heart against all my efforts to help you,” said Rose, +stepping gently forward. “I wish to serve you indeed.” +</p> + +<p> +“You would serve me best, lady,” replied the girl, wringing her hands, “if you +could take my life at once; for I have felt more grief to think of what I am, +tonight, than I ever did before, and it would be something not to die in the +hell in which I have lived. God bless you, sweet lady, and send as much +happiness on your head as I have brought shame on mine!” +</p> + +<p> +Thus speaking, and sobbing aloud, the unhappy creature turned away; while Rose +Maylie, overpowered by this extraordinary interview, which had more the +semblance of a rapid dream than an actual occurrence, sank into a chair, and +endeavoured to collect her wandering thoughts. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap41"></a> CHAPTER XLI.<br/> +CONTAINING FRESH DISCOVERIES, AND SHOWING THAT SUPRISES, LIKE MISFORTUNES, +SELDOM COME ALONE</h2> + +<p> +Her situation was, indeed, one of no common trial and difficulty. While she +felt the most eager and burning desire to penetrate the mystery in which +Oliver’s history was enveloped, she could not but hold sacred the confidence +which the miserable woman with whom she had just conversed, had reposed in her, +as a young and guileless girl. Her words and manner had touched Rose Maylie’s +heart; and, mingled with her love for her young charge, and scarcely less +intense in its truth and fervour, was her fond wish to win the outcast back to +repentance and hope. +</p> + +<p> +They purposed remaining in London only three days, prior to departing for some +weeks to a distant part of the coast. It was now midnight of the first day. +What course of action could she determine upon, which could be adopted in +eight-and-forty hours? Or how could she postpone the journey without exciting +suspicion? +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Losberne was with them, and would be for the next two days; but Rose was +too well acquainted with the excellent gentleman’s impetuosity, and foresaw too +clearly the wrath with which, in the first explosion of his indignation, he +would regard the instrument of Oliver’s recapture, to trust him with the +secret, when her representations in the girl’s behalf could be seconded by no +experienced person. These were all reasons for the greatest caution and most +circumspect behaviour in communicating it to Mrs. Maylie, whose first impulse +would infallibly be to hold a conference with the worthy doctor on the subject. +As to resorting to any legal adviser, even if she had known how to do so, it +was scarcely to be thought of, for the same reason. Once the thought occurred +to her of seeking assistance from Harry; but this awakened the recollection of +their last parting, and it seemed unworthy of her to call him back, when—the +tears rose to her eyes as she pursued this train of reflection—he might have by +this time learnt to forget her, and to be happier away. +</p> + +<p> +Disturbed by these different reflections; inclining now to one course and then +to another, and again recoiling from all, as each successive consideration +presented itself to her mind; Rose passed a sleepless and anxious night. After +more communing with herself next day, she arrived at the desperate conclusion +of consulting Harry. +</p> + +<p> +“If it be painful to him,” she thought, “to come back here, how painful it will +be to me! But perhaps he will not come; he may write, or he may come himself, +and studiously abstain from meeting me—he did when he went away. I hardly +thought he would; but it was better for us both.” And here Rose dropped the +pen, and turned away, as though the very paper which was to be her messenger +should not see her weep. +</p> + +<p> +She had taken up the same pen, and laid it down again fifty times, and had +considered and reconsidered the first line of her letter without writing the +first word, when Oliver, who had been walking in the streets, with Mr. Giles +for a body-guard, entered the room in such breathless haste and violent +agitation, as seemed to betoken some new cause of alarm. +</p> + +<p> +“What makes you look so flurried?” asked Rose, advancing to meet him. +</p> + +<p> +“I hardly know how; I feel as if I should be choked,” replied the boy. “Oh +dear! To think that I should see him at last, and you should be able to know +that I have told you the truth!” +</p> + +<p> +“I never thought you had told us anything but the truth,” said Rose, soothing +him. “But what is this?—of whom do you speak?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have seen the gentleman,” replied Oliver, scarcely able to articulate, “the +gentleman who was so good to me—Mr. Brownlow, that we have so often talked +about.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where?” asked Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“Getting out of a coach,” replied Oliver, shedding tears of delight, “and going +into a house. I didn’t speak to him—I couldn’t speak to him, for he didn’t see +me, and I trembled so, that I was not able to go up to him. But Giles asked, +for me, whether he lived there, and they said he did. Look here,” said Oliver, +opening a scrap of paper, “here it is; here’s where he lives—I’m going there +directly! Oh, dear me, dear me! What shall I do when I come to see him and hear +him speak again!” +</p> + +<p> +With her attention not a little distracted by these and a great many other +incoherent exclamations of joy, Rose read the address, which was Craven Street, +in the Strand. She very soon determined upon turning the discovery to account. +</p> + +<p> +“Quick!” she said. “Tell them to fetch a hackney-coach, and be ready to go with +me. I will take you there directly, without a minute’s loss of time. I will +only tell my aunt that we are going out for an hour, and be ready as soon as +you are.” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver needed no prompting to despatch, and in little more than five minutes +they were on their way to Craven Street. When they arrived there, Rose left +Oliver in the coach, under pretence of preparing the old gentleman to receive +him; and sending up her card by the servant, requested to see Mr. Brownlow on +very pressing business. The servant soon returned, to beg that she would walk +upstairs; and following him into an upper room, Miss Maylie was presented to an +elderly gentleman of benevolent appearance, in a bottle-green coat. At no great +distance from whom, was seated another old gentleman, in nankeen breeches and +gaiters; who did not look particularly benevolent, and who was sitting with his +hands clasped on the top of a thick stick, and his chin propped thereupon. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear me,” said the gentleman, in the bottle-green coat, hastily rising with +great politeness, “I beg your pardon, young lady—I imagined it was some +importunate person who—I beg you will excuse me. Be seated, pray.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Brownlow, I believe, sir?” said Rose, glancing from the other gentleman to +the one who had spoken. +</p> + +<p> +“That is my name,” said the old gentleman. “This is my friend, Mr. Grimwig. +Grimwig, will you leave us for a few minutes?” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe,” interposed Miss Maylie, “that at this period of our interview, I +need not give that gentleman the trouble of going away. If I am correctly +informed, he is cognizant of the business on which I wish to speak to you.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brownlow inclined his head. Mr. Grimwig, who had made one very stiff bow, +and risen from his chair, made another very stiff bow, and dropped into it +again. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall surprise you very much, I have no doubt,” said Rose, naturally +embarrassed; “but you once showed great benevolence and goodness to a very dear +young friend of mine, and I am sure you will take an interest in hearing of him +again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed!” said Mr. Brownlow. +</p> + +<p> +“Oliver Twist you knew him as,” replied Rose. +</p> + +<p> +The words no sooner escaped her lips, than Mr. Grimwig, who had been affecting +to dip into a large book that lay on the table, upset it with a great crash, +and falling back in his chair, discharged from his features every expression +but one of unmitigated wonder, and indulged in a prolonged and vacant stare; +then, as if ashamed of having betrayed so much emotion, he jerked himself, as +it were, by a convulsion into his former attitude, and looking out straight +before him emitted a long deep whistle, which seemed, at last, not to be +discharged on empty air, but to die away in the innermost recesses of his +stomach. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Browlow was no less surprised, although his astonishment was not expressed +in the same eccentric manner. He drew his chair nearer to Miss Maylie’s, and +said, +</p> + +<p> +“Do me the favour, my dear young lady, to leave entirely out of the question +that goodness and benevolence of which you speak, and of which nobody else +knows anything; and if you have it in your power to produce any evidence which +will alter the unfavourable opinion I was once induced to entertain of that +poor child, in Heaven’s name put me in possession of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“A bad one! I’ll eat my head if he is not a bad one,” growled Mr. Grimwig, +speaking by some ventriloquial power, without moving a muscle of his face. +</p> + +<p> +“He is a child of a noble nature and a warm heart,” said Rose, colouring; “and +that Power which has thought fit to try him beyond his years, has planted in +his breast affections and feelings which would do honour to many who have +numbered his days six times over.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m only sixty-one,” said Mr. Grimwig, with the same rigid face. “And, as the +devil’s in it if this Oliver is not twelve years old at least, I don’t see the +application of that remark.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do not heed my friend, Miss Maylie,” said Mr. Brownlow; “he does not mean what +he says.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, he does,” growled Mr. Grimwig. +</p> + +<p> +“No, he does not,” said Mr. Brownlow, obviously rising in wrath as he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll eat his head, if he doesn’t,” growled Mr. Grimwig. +</p> + +<p> +“He would deserve to have it knocked off, if he does,” said Mr. Brownlow. +</p> + +<p> +“And he’d uncommonly like to see any man offer to do it,” responded Mr. +Grimwig, knocking his stick upon the floor. +</p> + +<p> +Having gone thus far, the two old gentlemen severally took snuff, and +afterwards shook hands, according to their invariable custom. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Miss Maylie,” said Mr. Brownlow, “to return to the subject in which your +humanity is so much interested. Will you let me know what intelligence you have +of this poor child: allowing me to promise that I exhausted every means in my +power of discovering him, and that since I have been absent from this country, +my first impression that he had imposed upon me, and had been persuaded by his +former associates to rob me, has been considerably shaken.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose, who had had time to collect her thoughts, at once related, in a few +natural words, all that had befallen Oliver since he left Mr. Brownlow’s house; +reserving Nancy’s information for that gentleman’s private ear, and concluding +with the assurance that his only sorrow, for some months past, had been not +being able to meet with his former benefactor and friend. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank God!” said the old gentleman. “This is great happiness to me, great +happiness. But you have not told me where he is now, Miss Maylie. You must +pardon my finding fault with you,—but why not have brought him?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is waiting in a coach at the door,” replied Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“At this door!” cried the old gentleman. With which he hurried out of the room, +down the stairs, up the coachsteps, and into the coach, without another word. +</p> + +<p> +When the room-door closed behind him, Mr. Grimwig lifted up his head, and +converting one of the hind legs of his chair into a pivot, described three +distinct circles with the assistance of his stick and the table; sitting in it +all the time. After performing this evolution, he rose and limped as fast as he +could up and down the room at least a dozen times, and then stopping suddenly +before Rose, kissed her without the slightest preface. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush!” he said, as the young lady rose in some alarm at this unusual +proceeding. “Don’t be afraid. I’m old enough to be your grandfather. You’re a +sweet girl. I like you. Here they are!” +</p> + +<p> +In fact, as he threw himself at one dexterous dive into his former seat, Mr. +Brownlow returned, accompanied by Oliver, whom Mr. Grimwig received very +graciously; and if the gratification of that moment had been the only reward +for all her anxiety and care in Oliver’s behalf, Rose Maylie would have been +well repaid. +</p> + +<p> +“There is somebody else who should not be forgotten, by the bye,” said Mr. +Brownlow, ringing the bell. “Send Mrs. Bedwin here, if you please.” +</p> + +<p> +The old housekeeper answered the summons with all dispatch; and dropping a +curtsey at the door, waited for orders. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you get blinder every day, Bedwin,” said Mr. Brownlow, rather testily. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that I do, sir,” replied the old lady. “People’s eyes, at my time of +life, don’t improve with age, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I could have told you that,” rejoined Mr. Brownlow; “but put on your glasses, +and see if you can’t find out what you were wanted for, will you?” +</p> + +<p> +The old lady began to rummage in her pocket for her spectacles. But Oliver’s +patience was not proof against this new trial; and yielding to his first +impulse, he sprang into her arms. +</p> + +<p> +“God be good to me!” cried the old lady, embracing him; “it is my innocent +boy!” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear old nurse!” cried Oliver. +</p> + +<p> +“He would come back—I knew he would,” said the old lady, holding him in her +arms. “How well he looks, and how like a gentleman’s son he is dressed again! +Where have you been, this long, long while? Ah! the same sweet face, but not so +pale; the same soft eye, but not so sad. I have never forgotten them or his +quiet smile, but have seen them every day, side by side with those of my own +dear children, dead and gone since I was a lightsome young creature.” Running +on thus, and now holding Oliver from her to mark how he had grown, now clasping +him to her and passing her fingers fondly through his hair, the good soul +laughed and wept upon his neck by turns. +</p> + +<p> +Leaving her and Oliver to compare notes at leisure, Mr. Brownlow led the way +into another room; and there, heard from Rose a full narration of her interview +with Nancy, which occasioned him no little surprise and perplexity. Rose also +explained her reasons for not confiding in her friend Mr. Losberne in the first +instance. The old gentleman considered that she had acted prudently, and +readily undertook to hold solemn conference with the worthy doctor himself. To +afford him an early opportunity for the execution of this design, it was +arranged that he should call at the hotel at eight o’clock that evening, and +that in the meantime Mrs. Maylie should be cautiously informed of all that had +occurred. These preliminaries adjusted, Rose and Oliver returned home. +</p> + +<p> +Rose had by no means overrated the measure of the good doctor’s wrath. Nancy’s +history was no sooner unfolded to him, than he poured forth a shower of mingled +threats and execrations; threatened to make her the first victim of the +combined ingenuity of Messrs. Blathers and Duff; and actually put on his hat +preparatory to sallying forth to obtain the assistance of those worthies. And, +doubtless, he would, in this first outbreak, have carried the intention into +effect without a moment’s consideration of the consequences, if he had not been +restrained, in part, by corresponding violence on the side of Mr. Brownlow, who +was himself of an irascible temperament, and partly by such arguments and +representations as seemed best calculated to dissuade him from his hotbrained +purpose. +</p> + +<p> +“Then what the devil is to be done?” said the impetuous doctor, when they had +rejoined the two ladies. “Are we to pass a vote of thanks to all these +vagabonds, male and female, and beg them to accept a hundred pounds, or so, +apiece, as a trifling mark of our esteem, and some slight acknowledgment of +their kindness to Oliver?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not exactly that,” rejoined Mr. Brownlow, laughing; “but we must proceed +gently and with great care.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gentleness and care,” exclaimed the doctor. “I’d send them one and all to—” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind where,” interposed Mr. Brownlow. “But reflect whether sending them +anywhere is likely to attain the object we have in view.” +</p> + +<p> +“What object?” asked the doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“Simply, the discovery of Oliver’s parentage, and regaining for him the +inheritance of which, if this story be true, he has been fraudulently +deprived.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Mr. Losberne, cooling himself with his pocket-handkerchief; “I +almost forgot that.” +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” pursued Mr. Brownlow; “placing this poor girl entirely out of the +question, and supposing it were possible to bring these scoundrels to justice +without compromising her safety, what good should we bring about?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hanging a few of them at least, in all probability,” suggested the doctor, +“and transporting the rest.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good,” replied Mr. Brownlow, smiling; “but no doubt they will bring that +about for themselves in the fulness of time, and if we step in to forestall +them, it seems to me that we shall be performing a very Quixotic act, in direct +opposition to our own interest—or at least to Oliver’s, which is the same +thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” inquired the doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“Thus. It is quite clear that we shall have extreme difficulty in getting to +the bottom of this mystery, unless we can bring this man, Monks, upon his +knees. That can only be done by stratagem, and by catching him when he is not +surrounded by these people. For, suppose he were apprehended, we have no proof +against him. He is not even (so far as we know, or as the facts appear to us) +concerned with the gang in any of their robberies. If he were not discharged, +it is very unlikely that he could receive any further punishment than being +committed to prison as a rogue and vagabond; and of course ever afterwards his +mouth would be so obstinately closed that he might as well, for our purposes, +be deaf, dumb, blind, and an idiot.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” said the doctor impetuously, “I put it to you again, whether you think +it reasonable that this promise to the girl should be considered binding; a +promise made with the best and kindest intentions, but really—” +</p> + +<p> +“Do not discuss the point, my dear young lady, pray,” said Mr. Brownlow, +interrupting Rose as she was about to speak. “The promise shall be kept. I +don’t think it will, in the slightest degree, interfere with our proceedings. +But, before we can resolve upon any precise course of action, it will be +necessary to see the girl; to ascertain from her whether she will point out +this Monks, on the understanding that he is to be dealt with by us, and not by +the law; or, if she will not, or cannot do that, to procure from her such an +account of his haunts and description of his person, as will enable us to +identify him. She cannot be seen until next Sunday night; this is Tuesday. I +would suggest that in the meantime, we remain perfectly quiet, and keep these +matters secret even from Oliver himself.” +</p> + +<p> +Although Mr. Losberne received with many wry faces a proposal involving a delay +of five whole days, he was fain to admit that no better course occurred to him +just then; and as both Rose and Mrs. Maylie sided very strongly with Mr. +Brownlow, that gentleman’s proposition was carried unanimously. +</p> + +<p> +“I should like,” he said, “to call in the aid of my friend Grimwig. He is a +strange creature, but a shrewd one, and might prove of material assistance to +us; I should say that he was bred a lawyer, and quitted the Bar in disgust +because he had only one brief and a motion of course, in twenty years, though +whether that is recommendation or not, you must determine for yourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no objection to your calling in your friend if I may call in mine,” +said the doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“We must put it to the vote,” replied Mr. Brownlow, “who may he be?” +</p> + +<p> +“That lady’s son, and this young lady’s—very old friend,” said the doctor, +motioning towards Mrs. Maylie, and concluding with an expressive glance at her +niece. +</p> + +<p> +Rose blushed deeply, but she did not make any audible objection to this motion +(possibly she felt in a hopeless minority); and Harry Maylie and Mr. Grimwig +were accordingly added to the committee. +</p> + +<p> +“We stay in town, of course,” said Mrs. Maylie, “while there remains the +slightest prospect of prosecuting this inquiry with a chance of success. I will +spare neither trouble nor expense in behalf of the object in which we are all +so deeply interested, and I am content to remain here, if it be for twelve +months, so long as you assure me that any hope remains.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” rejoined Mr. Brownlow. “And as I see on the faces about me, a +disposition to inquire how it happened that I was not in the way to corroborate +Oliver’s tale, and had so suddenly left the kingdom, let me stipulate that I +shall be asked no questions until such time as I may deem it expedient to +forestall them by telling my own story. Believe me, I make this request with +good reason, for I might otherwise excite hopes destined never to be realised, +and only increase difficulties and disappointments already quite numerous +enough. Come! Supper has been announced, and young Oliver, who is all alone in +the next room, will have begun to think, by this time, that we have wearied of +his company, and entered into some dark conspiracy to thrust him forth upon the +world.” +</p> + +<p> +With these words, the old gentleman gave his hand to Mrs. Maylie, and escorted +her into the supper-room. Mr. Losberne followed, leading Rose; and the council +was, for the present, effectually broken up. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap42"></a> CHAPTER XLII.<br/> +AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE OF OLIVER’S, EXHIBITING DECIDED MARKS OF GENIUS, BECOMES A +PUBLIC CHARACTER IN THE METROPOLIS</h2> + +<p> +Upon the night when Nancy, having lulled Mr. Sikes to sleep, hurried on her +self-imposed mission to Rose Maylie, there advanced towards London, by the +Great North Road, two persons, upon whom it is expedient that this history +should bestow some attention. +</p> + +<p> +They were a man and woman; or perhaps they would be better described as a male +and female: for the former was one of those long-limbed, knock-kneed, +shambling, bony people, to whom it is difficult to assign any precise +age,—looking as they do, when they are yet boys, like undergrown men, and when +they are almost men, like overgrown boys. The woman was young, but of a robust +and hardy make, as she need have been to bear the weight of the heavy bundle +which was strapped to her back. Her companion was not encumbered with much +luggage, as there merely dangled from a stick which he carried over his +shoulder, a small parcel wrapped in a common handkerchief, and apparently light +enough. This circumstance, added to the length of his legs, which were of +unusual extent, enabled him with much ease to keep some half-dozen paces in +advance of his companion, to whom he occasionally turned with an impatient jerk +of the head: as if reproaching her tardiness, and urging her to greater +exertion. +</p> + +<p> +Thus, they had toiled along the dusty road, taking little heed of any object +within sight, save when they stepped aside to allow a wider passage for the +mail-coaches which were whirling out of town, until they passed through +Highgate archway; when the foremost traveller stopped and called impatiently to +his companion, +</p> + +<p> +“Come on, can’t yer? What a lazybones yer are, Charlotte.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a heavy load, I can tell you,” said the female, coming up, almost +breathless with fatigue. +</p> + +<p> +“Heavy! What are yer talking about? What are yer made for?” rejoined the male +traveller, changing his own little bundle as he spoke, to the other shoulder. +“Oh, there yer are, resting again! Well, if yer ain’t enough to tire anybody’s +patience out, I don’t know what is!” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it much farther?” asked the woman, resting herself against a bank, and +looking up with the perspiration streaming from her face. +</p> + +<p> +“Much farther! Yer as good as there,” said the long-legged tramper, pointing +out before him. “Look there! Those are the lights of London.” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re a good two mile off, at least,” said the woman despondingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind whether they’re two mile off, or twenty,” said Noah Claypole; for +he it was; “but get up and come on, or I’ll kick yer, and so I give yer +notice.” +</p> + +<p> +As Noah’s red nose grew redder with anger, and as he crossed the road while +speaking, as if fully prepared to put his threat into execution, the woman rose +without any further remark, and trudged onward by his side. +</p> + +<p> +“Where do you mean to stop for the night, Noah?” she asked, after they had +walked a few hundred yards. +</p> + +<p> +“How should I know?” replied Noah, whose temper had been considerably impaired +by walking. +</p> + +<p> +“Near, I hope,” said Charlotte. +</p> + +<p> +“No, not near,” replied Mr. Claypole. “There! Not near; so don’t think it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” +</p> + +<p> +“When I tell yer that I don’t mean to do a thing, that’s enough, without any +why or because either,” replied Mr. Claypole with dignity. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you needn’t be so cross,” said his companion. +</p> + +<p> +“A pretty thing it would be, wouldn’t it to go and stop at the very first +public-house outside the town, so that Sowerberry, if he come up after us, +might poke in his old nose, and have us taken back in a cart with handcuffs +on,” said Mr. Claypole in a jeering tone. “No! I shall go and lose myself among +the narrowest streets I can find, and not stop till we come to the very +out-of-the-wayest house I can set eyes on. Cod, yer may thanks yer stars I’ve +got a head; for if we hadn’t gone, at first, the wrong road a purpose, and come +back across country, yer’d have been locked up hard and fast a week ago, my +lady. And serve yer right for being a fool.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know I ain’t as cunning as you are,” replied Charlotte; “but don’t put all +the blame on me, and say I should have been locked up. You would have been if I +had been, any way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yer took the money from the till, yer know yer did,” said Mr. Claypole. +</p> + +<p> +“I took it for you, Noah, dear,” rejoined Charlotte. +</p> + +<p> +“Did I keep it?” asked Mr. Claypole. +</p> + +<p> +“No; you trusted in me, and let me carry it like a dear, and so you are,” said +the lady, chucking him under the chin, and drawing her arm through his. +</p> + +<p> +This was indeed the case; but as it was not Mr. Claypole’s habit to repose a +blind and foolish confidence in anybody, it should be observed, in justice to +that gentleman, that he had trusted Charlotte to this extent, in order that, if +they were pursued, the money might be found on her: which would leave him an +opportunity of asserting his innocence of any theft, and would greatly +facilitate his chances of escape. Of course, he entered at this juncture, into +no explanation of his motives, and they walked on very lovingly together. +</p> + +<p> +In pursuance of this cautious plan, Mr. Claypole went on, without halting, +until he arrived at the Angel at Islington, where he wisely judged, from the +crowd of passengers and numbers of vehicles, that London began in earnest. Just +pausing to observe which appeared the most crowded streets, and consequently +the most to be avoided, he crossed into Saint John’s Road, and was soon deep in +the obscurity of the intricate and dirty ways, which, lying between Gray’s Inn +Lane and Smithfield, render that part of the town one of the lowest and worst +that improvement has left in the midst of London. +</p> + +<p> +Through these streets, Noah Claypole walked, dragging Charlotte after him; now +stepping into the kennel to embrace at a glance the whole external character of +some small public-house; now jogging on again, as some fancied appearance +induced him to believe it too public for his purpose. At length, he stopped in +front of one, more humble in appearance and more dirty than any he had yet +seen; and, having crossed over and surveyed it from the opposite pavement, +graciously announced his intention of putting up there, for the night. +</p> + +<p> +“So give us the bundle,” said Noah, unstrapping it from the woman’s shoulders, +and slinging it over his own; “and don’t yer speak, except when yer spoke to. +What’s the name of the house—t-h-r—three what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Cripples,” said Charlotte. +</p> + +<p> +“Three Cripples,” repeated Noah, “and a very good sign too. Now, then! Keep +close at my heels, and come along.” With these injunctions, he pushed the +rattling door with his shoulder, and entered the house, followed by his +companion. +</p> + +<p> +There was nobody in the bar but a young Jew, who, with his two elbows on the +counter, was reading a dirty newspaper. He stared very hard at Noah, and Noah +stared very hard at him. +</p> + +<p> +If Noah had been attired in his charity-boy’s dress, there might have been some +reason for the Jew opening his eyes so wide; but as he had discarded the coat +and badge, and wore a short smock-frock over his leathers, there seemed no +particular reason for his appearance exciting so much attention in a +public-house. +</p> + +<p> +“Is this the Three Cripples?” asked Noah. +</p> + +<p> +“That is the dabe of this ’ouse,” replied the Jew. +</p> + +<p> +“A gentleman we met on the road, coming up from the country, recommended us +here,” said Noah, nudging Charlotte, perhaps to call her attention to this most +ingenious device for attracting respect, and perhaps to warn her to betray no +surprise. “We want to sleep here tonight.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’b dot certaid you cad,” said Barney, who was the attendant sprite; “but I’ll +idquire.” +</p> + +<p> +“Show us the tap, and give us a bit of cold meat and a drop of beer while yer +inquiring, will yer?” said Noah. +</p> + +<p> +Barney complied by ushering them into a small back-room, and setting the +required viands before them; having done which, he informed the travellers that +they could be lodged that night, and left the amiable couple to their +refreshment. +</p> + +<p> +Now, this back-room was immediately behind the bar, and some steps lower, so +that any person connected with the house, undrawing a small curtain which +concealed a single pane of glass fixed in the wall of the last-named apartment, +about five feet from its flooring, could not only look down upon any guests in +the back-room without any great hazard of being observed (the glass being in a +dark angle of the wall, between which and a large upright beam the observer had +to thrust himself), but could, by applying his ear to the partition, ascertain +with tolerable distinctness, their subject of conversation. The landlord of the +house had not withdrawn his eye from this place of espial for five minutes, and +Barney had only just returned from making the communication above related, when +Fagin, in the course of his evening’s business, came into the bar to inquire +after some of his young pupils. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush!” said Barney: “stradegers id the next roob.” +</p> + +<p> +“Strangers!” repeated the old man in a whisper. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! Ad rub uds too,” added Barney. “Frob the cuttry, but subthig in your way, +or I’b bistaked.” +</p> + +<p> +Fagin appeared to receive this communication with great interest. +</p> + +<p> +Mounting a stool, he cautiously applied his eye to the pane of glass, from +which secret post he could see Mr. Claypole taking cold beef from the dish, and +porter from the pot, and administering homeopathic doses of both to Charlotte, +who sat patiently by, eating and drinking at his pleasure. +</p> + +<p> +“Aha!” he whispered, looking round to Barney, “I like that fellow’s looks. He’d +be of use to us; he knows how to train the girl already. Don’t make as much +noise as a mouse, my dear, and let me hear ’em talk—let me hear ’em.” +</p> + +<p> +He again applied his eye to the glass, and turning his ear to the partition, +listened attentively: with a subtle and eager look upon his face, that might +have appertained to some old goblin. +</p> + +<p> +“So I mean to be a gentleman,” said Mr. Claypole, kicking out his legs, and +continuing a conversation, the commencement of which Fagin had arrived too late +to hear. “No more jolly old coffins, Charlotte, but a gentleman’s life for me: +and, if yer like, yer shall be a lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should like that well enough, dear,” replied Charlotte; “but tills ain’t to +be emptied every day, and people to get clear off after it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tills be blowed!” said Mr. Claypole; “there’s more things besides tills to be +emptied.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” asked his companion. +</p> + +<p> +“Pockets, women’s ridicules, houses, mail-coaches, banks!” said Mr. Claypole, +rising with the porter. +</p> + +<p> +“But you can’t do all that, dear,” said Charlotte. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall look out to get into company with them as can,” replied Noah. “They’ll +be able to make us useful some way or another. Why, you yourself are worth +fifty women; I never see such a precious sly and deceitful creetur as yer can +be when I let yer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lor, how nice it is to hear yer say so!” exclaimed Charlotte, imprinting a +kiss upon his ugly face. +</p> + +<p> +“There, that’ll do: don’t yer be too affectionate, in case I’m cross with yer,” +said Noah, disengaging himself with great gravity. “I should like to be the +captain of some band, and have the whopping of ’em, and follering ’em about, +unbeknown to themselves. That would suit me, if there was good profit; and if +we could only get in with some gentleman of this sort, I say it would be cheap +at that twenty-pound note you’ve got,—especially as we don’t very well know how +to get rid of it ourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +After expressing this opinion, Mr. Claypole looked into the porter-pot with an +aspect of deep wisdom; and having well shaken its contents, nodded +condescendingly to Charlotte, and took a draught, wherewith he appeared greatly +refreshed. He was meditating another, when the sudden opening of the door, and +the appearance of a stranger, interrupted him. +</p> + +<p> +The stranger was Mr. Fagin. And very amiable he looked, and a very low bow he +made, as he advanced, and setting himself down at the nearest table, ordered +something to drink of the grinning Barney. +</p> + +<p> +“A pleasant night, sir, but cool for the time of year,” said Fagin, rubbing his +hands. “From the country, I see, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“How do yer see that?” asked Noah Claypole. +</p> + +<p> +“We have not so much dust as that in London,” replied Fagin, pointing from +Noah’s shoes to those of his companion, and from them to the two bundles. +</p> + +<p> +“Yer a sharp feller,” said Noah. “Ha! ha! only hear that, Charlotte!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, one need be sharp in this town, my dear,” replied the Jew, sinking his +voice to a confidential whisper; “and that’s the truth.” +</p> + +<p> +Fagin followed up this remark by striking the side of his nose with his right +forefinger,—a gesture which Noah attempted to imitate, though not with complete +success, in consequence of his own nose not being large enough for the purpose. +However, Mr. Fagin seemed to interpret the endeavour as expressing a perfect +coincidence with his opinion, and put about the liquor which Barney reappeared +with, in a very friendly manner. +</p> + +<p> +“Good stuff that,” observed Mr. Claypole, smacking his lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear!” said Fagin. “A man need be always emptying a till, or a pocket, or a +woman’s reticule, or a house, or a mail-coach, or a bank, if he drinks it +regularly.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Claypole no sooner heard this extract from his own remarks than he fell +back in his chair, and looked from the Jew to Charlotte with a countenance of +ashy paleness and excessive terror. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t mind me, my dear,” said Fagin, drawing his chair closer. “Ha! ha! it was +lucky it was only me that heard you by chance. It was very lucky it was only +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t take it,” stammered Noah, no longer stretching out his legs like an +independent gentleman, but coiling them up as well as he could under his chair; +“it was all her doing; yer’ve got it now, Charlotte, yer know yer have.” +</p> + +<p> +“No matter who’s got it, or who did it, my dear,” replied Fagin, glancing, +nevertheless, with a hawk’s eye at the girl and the two bundles. “I’m in that +way myself, and I like you for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“In what way?” asked Mr. Claypole, a little recovering. +</p> + +<p> +“In that way of business,” rejoined Fagin; “and so are the people of the house. +You’ve hit the right nail upon the head, and are as safe here as you could be. +There is not a safer place in all this town than is the Cripples; that is, when +I like to make it so. And I have taken a fancy to you and the young woman; so +I’ve said the word, and you may make your minds easy.” +</p> + +<p> +Noah Claypole’s mind might have been at ease after this assurance, but his body +certainly was not; for he shuffled and writhed about, into various uncouth +positions: eyeing his new friend meanwhile with mingled fear and suspicion. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you more,” said Fagin, after he had reassured the girl, by dint of +friendly nods and muttered encouragements. “I have got a friend that I think +can gratify your darling wish, and put you in the right way, where you can take +whatever department of the business you think will suit you best at first, and +be taught all the others.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yer speak as if yer were in earnest,” replied Noah. +</p> + +<p> +“What advantage would it be to me to be anything else?” inquired Fagin, +shrugging his shoulders. “Here! Let me have a word with you outside.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no occasion to trouble ourselves to move,” said Noah, getting his legs +by gradual degrees abroad again. “She’ll take the luggage upstairs the while. +Charlotte, see to them bundles.” +</p> + +<p> +This mandate, which had been delivered with great majesty, was obeyed without +the slightest demur; and Charlotte made the best of her way off with the +packages while Noah held the door open and watched her out. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s kept tolerably well under, ain’t she?” he asked as he resumed his seat: +in the tone of a keeper who had tamed some wild animal. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite perfect,” rejoined Fagin, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re a +genius, my dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, I suppose if I wasn’t, I shouldn’t be here,” replied Noah. “But, I say, +she’ll be back if yer lose time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, what do you think?” said Fagin. “If you was to like my friend, could you +do better than join him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Is he in a good way of business; that’s where it is!” responded Noah, winking +one of his little eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“The top of the tree; employs a power of hands; has the very best society in +the profession.” +</p> + +<p> +“Regular town-maders?” asked Mr. Claypole. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a countryman among ’em; and I don’t think he’d take you, even on my +recommendation, if he didn’t run rather short of assistants just now,” replied +Fagin. +</p> + +<p> +“Should I have to hand over?” said Noah, slapping his breeches-pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“It couldn’t possibly be done without,” replied Fagin, in a most decided +manner. +</p> + +<p> +“Twenty pound, though—it’s a lot of money!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not when it’s in a note you can’t get rid of,” retorted Fagin. “Number and +date taken, I suppose? Payment stopped at the Bank? Ah! It’s not worth much to +him. It’ll have to go abroad, and he couldn’t sell it for a great deal in the +market.” +</p> + +<p> +“When could I see him?” asked Noah doubtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Tomorrow morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where?” +</p> + +<p> +“Here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Um!” said Noah. “What’s the wages?” +</p> + +<p> +“Live like a gentleman—board and lodging, pipes and spirits free—half of all +you earn, and half of all the young woman earns,” replied Mr. Fagin. +</p> + +<p> +Whether Noah Claypole, whose rapacity was none of the least comprehensive, +would have acceded even to these glowing terms, had he been a perfectly free +agent, is very doubtful; but as he recollected that, in the event of his +refusal, it was in the power of his new acquaintance to give him up to justice +immediately (and more unlikely things had come to pass), he gradually relented, +and said he thought that would suit him. +</p> + +<p> +“But, yer see,” observed Noah, “as she will be able to do a good deal, I should +like to take something very light.” +</p> + +<p> +“A little fancy work?” suggested Fagin. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! something of that sort,” replied Noah. “What do you think would suit me +now? Something not too trying for the strength, and not very dangerous, you +know. That’s the sort of thing!” +</p> + +<p> +“I heard you talk of something in the spy way upon the others, my dear,” said +Fagin. “My friend wants somebody who would do that well, very much.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, I did mention that, and I shouldn’t mind turning my hand to it +sometimes,” rejoined Mr. Claypole slowly; “but it wouldn’t pay by itself, you +know.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s true!” observed the Jew, ruminating or pretending to ruminate. “No, it +might not.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you think, then?” asked Noah, anxiously regarding him. “Something in +the sneaking way, where it was pretty sure work, and not much more risk than +being at home.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you think of the old ladies?” asked Fagin. “There’s a good deal of +money made in snatching their bags and parcels, and running round the corner.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t they holler out a good deal, and scratch sometimes?” asked Noah, shaking +his head. “I don’t think that would answer my purpose. Ain’t there any other +line open?” +</p> + +<p> +“Stop!” said Fagin, laying his hand on Noah’s knee. “The kinchin lay.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” demanded Mr. Claypole. +</p> + +<p> +“The kinchins, my dear,” said Fagin, “is the young children that’s sent on +errands by their mothers, with sixpences and shillings; and the lay is just to +take their money away—they’ve always got it ready in their hands,—then knock +’em into the kennel, and walk off very slow, as if there were nothing else the +matter but a child fallen down and hurt itself. Ha! ha! ha!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! ha!” roared Mr. Claypole, kicking up his legs in an ecstasy. “Lord, that’s +the very thing!” +</p> + +<p> +“To be sure it is,” replied Fagin; “and you can have a few good beats chalked +out in Camden Town, and Battle Bridge, and neighbourhoods like that, where +they’re always going errands; and you can upset as many kinchins as you want, +any hour in the day. Ha! ha! ha!” +</p> + +<p> +With this, Fagin poked Mr. Claypole in the side, and they joined in a burst of +laughter both long and loud. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that’s all right!” said Noah, when he had recovered himself, and +Charlotte had returned. “What time tomorrow shall we say?” +</p> + +<p> +“Will ten do?” asked Fagin, adding, as Mr. Claypole nodded assent, “What name +shall I tell my good friend.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Bolter,” replied Noah, who had prepared himself for such emergency. “Mr. +Morris Bolter. This is Mrs. Bolter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Bolter’s humble servant,” said Fagin, bowing with grotesque politeness. +“I hope I shall know her better very shortly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you hear the gentleman, Charlotte?” thundered Mr. Claypole. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Noah, dear!” replied Mrs. Bolter, extending her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“She calls me Noah, as a sort of fond way of talking,” said Mr. Morris Bolter, +late Claypole, turning to Fagin. “You understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes, I understand—perfectly,” replied Fagin, telling the truth for once. +“Good-night! Good-night!” +</p> + +<p> +With many adieus and good wishes, Mr. Fagin went his way. Noah Claypole, +bespeaking his good lady’s attention, proceeded to enlighten her relative to +the arrangement he had made, with all that haughtiness and air of superiority, +becoming, not only a member of the sterner sex, but a gentleman who appreciated +the dignity of a special appointment on the kinchin lay, in London and its +vicinity. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap43"></a> CHAPTER XLIII.<br/> +WHEREIN IS SHOWN HOW THE ARTFUL DODGER GOT INTO TROUBLE</h2> + +<p> +“And so it was you that was your own friend, was it?” asked Mr. Claypole, +otherwise Bolter, when, by virtue of the compact entered into between them, he +had removed next day to Fagin’s house. “Cod, I thought as much last night!” +</p> + +<p> +“Every man’s his own friend, my dear,” replied Fagin, with his most insinuating +grin. “He hasn’t as good a one as himself anywhere.” +</p> + +<p> +“Except sometimes,” replied Morris Bolter, assuming the air of a man of the +world. “Some people are nobody’s enemies but their own, yer know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t believe that,” said Fagin. “When a man’s his own enemy, it’s only +because he’s too much his own friend; not because he’s careful for everybody +but himself. Pooh! pooh! There ain’t such a thing in nature.” +</p> + +<p> +“There oughn’t to be, if there is,” replied Mr. Bolter. +</p> + +<p> +“That stands to reason. Some conjurers say that number three is the magic +number, and some say number seven. It’s neither, my friend, neither. It’s +number one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! ha!” cried Mr. Bolter. “Number one for ever.” +</p> + +<p> +“In a little community like ours, my dear,” said Fagin, who felt it necessary +to qualify this position, “we have a general number one, without considering me +too as the same, and all the other young people.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, the devil!” exclaimed Mr. Bolter. +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” pursued Fagin, affecting to disregard this interruption, “we are so +mixed up together, and identified in our interests, that it must be so. For +instance, it’s your object to take care of number one—meaning yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” replied Mr. Bolter. “Yer about right there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well! You can’t take care of yourself, number one, without taking care of me, +number one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Number two, you mean,” said Mr. Bolter, who was largely endowed with the +quality of selfishness. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I don’t!” retorted Fagin. “I’m of the same importance to you, as you are +to yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I say,” interrupted Mr. Bolter, “yer a very nice man, and I’m very fond of +yer; but we ain’t quite so thick together, as all that comes to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Only think,” said Fagin, shrugging his shoulders, and stretching out his +hands; “only consider. You’ve done what’s a very pretty thing, and what I love +you for doing; but what at the same time would put the cravat round your +throat, that’s so very easily tied and so very difficult to unloose—in plain +English, the halter!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bolter put his hand to his neckerchief, as if he felt it inconveniently +tight; and murmured an assent, qualified in tone but not in substance. +</p> + +<p> +“The gallows,” continued Fagin, “the gallows, my dear, is an ugly finger-post, +which points out a very short and sharp turning that has stopped many a bold +fellow’s career on the broad highway. To keep in the easy road, and keep it at +a distance, is object number one with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course it is,” replied Mr. Bolter. “What do yer talk about such things +for?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only to show you my meaning clearly,” said the Jew, raising his eyebrows. “To +be able to do that, you depend upon me. To keep my little business all snug, I +depend upon you. The first is your number one, the second my number one. The +more you value your number one, the more careful you must be of mine; so we +come at last to what I told you at first—that a regard for number one holds us +all together, and must do so, unless we would all go to pieces in company.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s true,” rejoined Mr. Bolter, thoughtfully. “Oh! yer a cunning old +codger!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Fagin saw, with delight, that this tribute to his powers was no mere +compliment, but that he had really impressed his recruit with a sense of his +wily genius, which it was most important that he should entertain in the outset +of their acquaintance. To strengthen an impression so desirable and useful, he +followed up the blow by acquainting him, in some detail, with the magnitude and +extent of his operations; blending truth and fiction together, as best served +his purpose; and bringing both to bear, with so much art, that Mr. Bolter’s +respect visibly increased, and became tempered, at the same time, with a degree +of wholesome fear, which it was highly desirable to awaken. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s this mutual trust we have in each other that consoles me under heavy +losses,” said Fagin. “My best hand was taken from me, yesterday morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean to say he died?” cried Mr. Bolter. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” replied Fagin, “not so bad as that. Not quite so bad.” +</p> + +<p> +“What, I suppose he was—” +</p> + +<p> +“Wanted,” interposed Fagin. “Yes, he was wanted.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very particular?” inquired Mr. Bolter. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied Fagin, “not very. He was charged with attempting to pick a +pocket, and they found a silver snuff-box on him,—his own, my dear, his own, +for he took snuff himself, and was very fond of it. They remanded him till +today, for they thought they knew the owner. Ah! he was worth fifty boxes, and +I’d give the price of as many to have him back. You should have known the +Dodger, my dear; you should have known the Dodger.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, but I shall know him, I hope; don’t yer think so?” said Mr. Bolter. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m doubtful about it,” replied Fagin, with a sigh. “If they don’t get any +fresh evidence, it’ll only be a summary conviction, and we shall have him back +again after six weeks or so; but, if they do, it’s a case of lagging. They know +what a clever lad he is; he’ll be a lifer. They’ll make the Artful nothing less +than a lifer.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean by lagging and a lifer?” demanded Mr. Bolter. “What’s the +good of talking in that way to me; why don’t yer speak so as I can understand +yer?” +</p> + +<p> +Fagin was about to translate these mysterious expressions into the vulgar +tongue; and, being interpreted, Mr. Bolter would have been informed that they +represented that combination of words, “transportation for life,” when the +dialogue was cut short by the entry of Master Bates, with his hands in his +breeches-pockets, and his face twisted into a look of semi-comical woe. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all up, Fagin,” said Charley, when he and his new companion had been made +known to each other. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“They’ve found the gentleman as owns the box; two or three more’s a coming to +’dentify him; and the Artful’s booked for a passage out,” replied Master Bates. +“I must have a full suit of mourning, Fagin, and a hatband, to wisit him in, +afore he sets out upon his travels. To think of Jack Dawkins—lummy Jack—the +Dodger—the Artful Dodger—going abroad for a common twopenny-halfpenny +sneeze-box! I never thought he’d a done it under a gold watch, chain, and +seals, at the lowest. Oh, why didn’t he rob some rich old gentleman of all his +walables, and go out as a gentleman, and not like a common prig, without no +honour nor glory!” +</p> + +<p> +With this expression of feeling for his unfortunate friend, Master Bates sat +himself on the nearest chair with an aspect of chagrin and despondency. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you talk about his having neither honour nor glory for!” exclaimed +Fagin, darting an angry look at his pupil. “Wasn’t he always the top-sawyer +among you all! Is there one of you that could touch him or come near him on any +scent! Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not one,” replied Master Bates, in a voice rendered husky by regret; “not +one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then what do you talk of?” replied Fagin angrily; “what are you blubbering +for?” +</p> + +<p> +“’Cause it isn’t on the rec-ord, is it?” said Charley, chafed into perfect +defiance of his venerable friend by the current of his regrets; “’cause it +can’t come out in the ’dictment; ’cause nobody will never know half of what he +was. How will he stand in the Newgate Calendar? P’raps not be there at all. Oh, +my eye, my eye, wot a blow it is!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! ha!” cried Fagin, extending his right hand, and turning to Mr. Bolter in a +fit of chuckling which shook him as though he had the palsy; “see what a pride +they take in their profession, my dear. Ain’t it beautiful?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bolter nodded assent, and Fagin, after contemplating the grief of Charley +Bates for some seconds with evident satisfaction, stepped up to that young +gentleman and patted him on the shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind, Charley,” said Fagin soothingly; “it’ll come out, it’ll be sure to +come out. They’ll all know what a clever fellow he was; he’ll show it himself, +and not disgrace his old pals and teachers. Think how young he is too! What a +distinction, Charley, to be lagged at his time of life!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it is a honour that is!” said Charley, a little consoled. +</p> + +<p> +“He shall have all he wants,” continued the Jew. “He shall be kept in the Stone +Jug, Charley, like a gentleman. Like a gentleman! With his beer every day, and +money in his pocket to pitch and toss with, if he can’t spend it.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, shall he though?” cried Charley Bates. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, that he shall,” replied Fagin, “and we’ll have a big-wig, Charley: one +that’s got the greatest gift of the gab: to carry on his defence; and he shall +make a speech for himself too, if he likes; and we’ll read it all in the +papers—‘Artful Dodger—shrieks of laughter—here the court was convulsed’—eh, +Charley, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! ha!” laughed Master Bates, “what a lark that would be, wouldn’t it, Fagin? +I say, how the Artful would bother ’em wouldn’t he?” +</p> + +<p> +“Would!” cried Fagin. “He shall—he will!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, to be sure, so he will,” repeated Charley, rubbing his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I see him now,” cried the Jew, bending his eyes upon his pupil. +</p> + +<p> +“So do I,” cried Charley Bates. “Ha! ha! ha! so do I. I see it all afore me, +upon my soul I do, Fagin. What a game! What a regular game! All the big-wigs +trying to look solemn, and Jack Dawkins addressing of ’em as intimate and +comfortable as if he was the judge’s own son making a speech arter dinner—ha! +ha! ha!” +</p> + +<p> +In fact, Mr. Fagin had so well humoured his young friend’s eccentric +disposition, that Master Bates, who had at first been disposed to consider the +imprisoned Dodger rather in the light of a victim, now looked upon him as the +chief actor in a scene of most uncommon and exquisite humour, and felt quite +impatient for the arrival of the time when his old companion should have so +favourable an opportunity of displaying his abilities. +</p> + +<p> +“We must know how he gets on today, by some handy means or other,” said Fagin. +“Let me think.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I go?” asked Charley. +</p> + +<p> +“Not for the world,” replied Fagin. “Are you mad, my dear, stark mad, that +you’d walk into the very place where—No, Charley, no. One is enough to lose at +a time.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean to go yourself, I suppose?” said Charley with a humorous leer. +</p> + +<p> +“That wouldn’t quite fit,” replied Fagin shaking his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Then why don’t you send this new cove?” asked Master Bates, laying his hand on +Noah’s arm. “Nobody knows him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, if he didn’t mind—” observed Fagin. +</p> + +<p> +“Mind!” interposed Charley. “What should he have to mind?” +</p> + +<p> +“Really nothing, my dear,” said Fagin, turning to Mr. Bolter, “really nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I dare say about that, yer know,” observed Noah, backing towards the door, +and shaking his head with a kind of sober alarm. “No, no—none of that. It’s not +in my department, that ain’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wot department has he got, Fagin?” inquired Master Bates, surveying Noah’s +lank form with much disgust. “The cutting away when there’s anything wrong, and +the eating all the wittles when there’s everything right; is that his branch?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind,” retorted Mr. Bolter; “and don’t yer take liberties with yer +superiors, little boy, or yer’ll find yerself in the wrong shop.” +</p> + +<p> +Master Bates laughed so vehemently at this magnificent threat, that it was some +time before Fagin could interpose, and represent to Mr. Bolter that he incurred +no possible danger in visiting the police-office; that, inasmuch as no account +of the little affair in which he had engaged, nor any description of his +person, had yet been forwarded to the metropolis, it was very probable that he +was not even suspected of having resorted to it for shelter; and that, if he +were properly disguised, it would be as safe a spot for him to visit as any in +London, inasmuch as it would be, of all places, the very last, to which he +could be supposed likely to resort of his own free will. +</p> + +<p> +Persuaded, in part, by these representations, but overborne in a much greater +degree by his fear of Fagin, Mr. Bolter at length consented, with a very bad +grace, to undertake the expedition. By Fagin’s directions, he immediately +substituted for his own attire, a waggoner’s frock, velveteen breeches, and +leather leggings: all of which articles the Jew had at hand. He was likewise +furnished with a felt hat well garnished with turnpike tickets; and a carter’s +whip. Thus equipped, he was to saunter into the office, as some country fellow +from Covent Garden market might be supposed to do for the gratification of his +curiousity; and as he was as awkward, ungainly, and raw-boned a fellow as need +be, Mr. Fagin had no fear but that he would look the part to perfection. +</p> + +<p> +These arrangements completed, he was informed of the necessary signs and tokens +by which to recognise the Artful Dodger, and was conveyed by Master Bates +through dark and winding ways to within a very short distance of Bow Street. +Having described the precise situation of the office, and accompanied it with +copious directions how he was to walk straight up the passage, and when he got +into the side, and pull off his hat as he went into the room, Charley Bates +bade him hurry on alone, and promised to bide his return on the spot of their +parting. +</p> + +<p> +Noah Claypole, or Morris Bolter as the reader pleases, punctually followed the +directions he had received, which—Master Bates being pretty well acquainted +with the locality—were so exact that he was enabled to gain the magisterial +presence without asking any question, or meeting with any interruption by the +way. +</p> + +<p> +He found himself jostled among a crowd of people, chiefly women, who were +huddled together in a dirty frowsy room, at the upper end of which was a raised +platform railed off from the rest, with a dock for the prisoners on the left +hand against the wall, a box for the witnesses in the middle, and a desk for +the magistrates on the right; the awful locality last named, being screened off +by a partition which concealed the bench from the common gaze, and left the +vulgar to imagine (if they could) the full majesty of justice. +</p> + +<p> +There were only a couple of women in the dock, who were nodding to their +admiring friends, while the clerk read some depositions to a couple of +policemen and a man in plain clothes who leant over the table. A jailer stood +reclining against the dock-rail, tapping his nose listlessly with a large key, +except when he repressed an undue tendency to conversation among the idlers, by +proclaiming silence; or looked sternly up to bid some woman “Take that baby +out,” when the gravity of justice was disturbed by feeble cries, half-smothered +in the mother’s shawl, from some meagre infant. The room smelt close and +unwholesome; the walls were dirt-discoloured; and the ceiling blackened. There +was an old smoky bust over the mantel-shelf, and a dusty clock above the +dock—the only thing present, that seemed to go on as it ought; for depravity, +or poverty, or an habitual acquaintance with both, had left a taint on all the +animate matter, hardly less unpleasant than the thick greasy scum on every +inanimate object that frowned upon it. +</p> + +<p> +Noah looked eagerly about him for the Dodger; but although there were several +women who would have done very well for that distinguished character’s mother +or sister, and more than one man who might be supposed to bear a strong +resemblance to his father, nobody at all answering the description given him of +Mr. Dawkins was to be seen. He waited in a state of much suspense and +uncertainty until the women, being committed for trial, went flaunting out; and +then was quickly relieved by the appearance of another prisoner who he felt at +once could be no other than the object of his visit. +</p> + +<p> +It was indeed Mr. Dawkins, who, shuffling into the office with the big coat +sleeves tucked up as usual, his left hand in his pocket, and his hat in his +right hand, preceded the jailer, with a rolling gait altogether indescribable, +and, taking his place in the dock, requested in an audible voice to know what +he was placed in that ’ere disgraceful sitivation for. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold your tongue, will you?” said the jailer. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m an Englishman, ain’t I?” rejoined the Dodger. “Where are my priwileges?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll get your privileges soon enough,” retorted the jailer, “and pepper with +’em.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll see wot the Secretary of State for the Home Affairs has got to say to +the beaks, if I don’t,” replied Mr. Dawkins. “Now then! Wot is this here +business? I shall thank the madg’strates to dispose of this here little affair, +and not to keep me while they read the paper, for I’ve got an appointment with +a genelman in the City, and as I am a man of my word and wery punctual in +business matters, he’ll go away if I ain’t there to my time, and then pr’aps +ther won’t be an action for damage against them as kep me away. Oh no, +certainly not!” +</p> + +<p> +At this point, the Dodger, with a show of being very particular with a view to +proceedings to be had thereafter, desired the jailer to communicate “the names +of them two files as was on the bench.” Which so tickled the spectators, that +they laughed almost as heartily as Master Bates could have done if he had heard +the request. +</p> + +<p> +“Silence there!” cried the jailer. +</p> + +<p> +“What is this?” inquired one of the magistrates. +</p> + +<p> +“A pick-pocketing case, your worship.” +</p> + +<p> +“Has the boy ever been here before?” +</p> + +<p> +“He ought to have been, a many times,” replied the jailer. “He has been pretty +well everywhere else. <i>I</i> know him well, your worship.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! you know me, do you?” cried the Artful, making a note of the statement. +“Wery good. That’s a case of deformation of character, any way.” +</p> + +<p> +Here there was another laugh, and another cry of silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Now then, where are the witnesses?” said the clerk. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! that’s right,” added the Dodger. “Where are they? I should like to see +’em.” +</p> + +<p> +This wish was immediately gratified, for a policeman stepped forward who had +seen the prisoner attempt the pocket of an unknown gentleman in a crowd, and +indeed take a handkerchief therefrom, which, being a very old one, he +deliberately put back again, after trying it on his own countenance. For this +reason, he took the Dodger into custody as soon as he could get near him, and +the said Dodger, being searched, had upon his person a silver snuff-box, with +the owner’s name engraved upon the lid. This gentleman had been discovered on +reference to the Court Guide, and being then and there present, swore that the +snuff-box was his, and that he had missed it on the previous day, the moment he +had disengaged himself from the crowd before referred to. He had also remarked +a young gentleman in the throng, particularly active in making his way about, +and that young gentleman was the prisoner before him. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you anything to ask this witness, boy?” said the magistrate. +</p> + +<p> +“I wouldn’t abase myself by descending to hold no conversation with him,” +replied the Dodger. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you anything to say at all?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you hear his worship ask if you’ve anything to say?” inquired the jailer, +nudging the silent Dodger with his elbow. +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon,” said the Dodger, looking up with an air of abstraction. +“Did you redress yourself to me, my man?” +</p> + +<p> +“I never see such an out-and-out young wagabond, your worship,” observed the +officer with a grin. “Do you mean to say anything, you young shaver?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied the Dodger, “not here, for this ain’t the shop for justice: +besides which, my attorney is a-breakfasting this morning with the Wice +President of the House of Commons; but I shall have something to say elsewhere, +and so will he, and so will a wery numerous and ’spectable circle of +acquaintance as’ll make them beaks wish they’d never been born, or that they’d +got their footmen to hang ’em up to their own hat-pegs, afore they let ’em come +out this morning to try it on upon me. I’ll—” +</p> + +<p> +“There! He’s fully committed!” interposed the clerk. “Take him away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come on,” said the jailer. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh ah! I’ll come on,” replied the Dodger, brushing his hat with the palm of +his hand. “Ah! (to the Bench) it’s no use your looking frightened; I won’t show +you no mercy, not a ha’porth of it. <i>You’ll</i> pay for this, my fine +fellers. I wouldn’t be you for something! I wouldn’t go free, now, if you was +to fall down on your knees and ask me. Here, carry me off to prison! Take me +away!” +</p> + +<p> +With these last words, the Dodger suffered himself to be led off by the collar; +threatening, till he got into the yard, to make a parliamentary business of it; +and then grinning in the officer’s face, with great glee and self-approval. +</p> + +<p> +Having seen him locked up by himself in a little cell, Noah made the best of +his way back to where he had left Master Bates. After waiting here some time, +he was joined by that young gentleman, who had prudently abstained from showing +himself until he had looked carefully abroad from a snug retreat, and +ascertained that his new friend had not been followed by any impertinent +person. +</p> + +<p> +The two hastened back together, to bear to Mr. Fagin the animating news that +the Dodger was doing full justice to his bringing-up, and establishing for +himself a glorious reputation. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap44"></a> CHAPTER XLIV.<br/> +THE TIME ARRIVES FOR NANCY TO REDEEM HER PLEDGE TO ROSE MAYLIE. SHE FAILS.</h2> + +<p> +Adept as she was, in all the arts of cunning and dissimulation, the girl Nancy +could not wholly conceal the effect which the knowledge of the step she had +taken, wrought upon her mind. She remembered that both the crafty Jew and the +brutal Sikes had confided to her schemes, which had been hidden from all +others: in the full confidence that she was trustworthy and beyond the reach of +their suspicion. Vile as those schemes were, desperate as were their +originators, and bitter as were her feelings towards Fagin, who had led her, +step by step, deeper and deeper down into an abyss of crime and misery, whence +was no escape; still, there were times when, even towards him, she felt some +relenting, lest her disclosure should bring him within the iron grasp he had so +long eluded, and he should fall at last—richly as he merited such a fate—by her +hand. +</p> + +<p> +But, these were the mere wanderings of a mind unable wholly to detach itself +from old companions and associations, though enabled to fix itself steadily on +one object, and resolved not to be turned aside by any consideration. Her fears +for Sikes would have been more powerful inducements to recoil while there was +yet time; but she had stipulated that her secret should be rigidly kept, she +had dropped no clue which could lead to his discovery, she had refused, even +for his sake, a refuge from all the guilt and wretchedness that encompasses +her—and what more could she do! She was resolved. +</p> + +<p> +Though all her mental struggles terminated in this conclusion, they forced +themselves upon her, again and again, and left their traces too. She grew pale +and thin, even within a few days. At times, she took no heed of what was +passing before her, or no part in conversations where once, she would have been +the loudest. At other times, she laughed without merriment, and was noisy +without a moment afterwards—she sat silent and dejected, brooding with her head +upon her hands, while the very effort by which she roused herself, told, more +forcibly than even these indications, that she was ill at ease, and that her +thoughts were occupied with matters very different and distant from those in +the course of discussion by her companions. +</p> + +<p> +It was Sunday night, and the bell of the nearest church struck the hour. Sikes +and the Jew were talking, but they paused to listen. The girl looked up from +the low seat on which she crouched, and listened too. Eleven. +</p> + +<p> +“An hour this side of midnight,” said Sikes, raising the blind to look out and +returning to his seat. “Dark and heavy it is too. A good night for business +this.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” replied Fagin. “What a pity, Bill, my dear, that there’s none quite ready +to be done.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re right for once,” replied Sikes gruffly. “It is a pity, for I’m in the +humour too.” +</p> + +<p> +Fagin sighed, and shook his head despondingly. +</p> + +<p> +“We must make up for lost time when we’ve got things into a good train. That’s +all I know,” said Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the way to talk, my dear,” replied Fagin, venturing to pat him on the +shoulder. “It does me good to hear you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does you good, does it!” cried Sikes. “Well, so be it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Fagin, as if he were relieved by even this concession. +“You’re like yourself tonight, Bill. Quite like yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t feel like myself when you lay that withered old claw on my shoulder, +so take it away,” said Sikes, casting off the Jew’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +“It make you nervous, Bill,—reminds you of being nabbed, does it?” said Fagin, +determined not to be offended. +</p> + +<p> +“Reminds me of being nabbed by the devil,” returned Sikes. “There never was +another man with such a face as yours, unless it was your father, and I suppose +<i>he</i> is singeing his grizzled red beard by this time, unless you came +straight from the old ’un without any father at all betwixt you; which I +shouldn’t wonder at, a bit.” +</p> + +<p> +Fagin offered no reply to this compliment: but, pulling Sikes by the sleeve, +pointed his finger towards Nancy, who had taken advantage of the foregoing +conversation to put on her bonnet, and was now leaving the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Hallo!” cried Sikes. “Nance. Where’s the gal going to at this time of night?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not far.” +</p> + +<p> +“What answer’s that?” retorted Sikes. “Do you hear me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know where,” replied the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I do,” said Sikes, more in the spirit of obstinacy than because he had +any real objection to the girl going where she listed. “Nowhere. Sit down.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not well. I told you that before,” rejoined the girl. “I want a breath of +air.” +</p> + +<p> +“Put your head out of the winder,” replied Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s not enough there,” said the girl. “I want it in the street.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you won’t have it,” replied Sikes. With which assurance he rose, locked +the door, took the key out, and pulling her bonnet from her head, flung it up +to the top of an old press. “There,” said the robber. “Now stop quietly where +you are, will you?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not such a matter as a bonnet would keep me,” said the girl turning very +pale. “What do you mean, Bill? Do you know what you’re doing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Know what I’m—Oh!” cried Sikes, turning to Fagin, “she’s out of her senses, +you know, or she daren’t talk to me in that way.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll drive me on the something desperate,” muttered the girl placing both +hands upon her breast, as though to keep down by force some violent outbreak. +“Let me go, will you,—this minute—this instant.” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” said Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell him to let me go, Fagin. He had better. It’ll be better for him. Do you +hear me?” cried Nancy stamping her foot upon the ground. +</p> + +<p> +“Hear you!” repeated Sikes turning round in his chair to confront her. “Aye! +And if I hear you for half a minute longer, the dog shall have such a grip on +your throat as’ll tear some of that screaming voice out. Wot has come over you, +you jade! Wot is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me go,” said the girl with great earnestness; then sitting herself down on +the floor, before the door, she said, “Bill, let me go; you don’t know what you +are doing. You don’t, indeed. For only one hour—do—do!” +</p> + +<p> +“Cut my limbs off one by one!” cried Sikes, seizing her roughly by the arm, “If +I don’t think the gal’s stark raving mad. Get up.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not till you let me go—not till you let me go—Never—never!” screamed the girl. +Sikes looked on, for a minute, watching his opportunity, and suddenly pinioning +her hands dragged her, struggling and wrestling with him by the way, into a +small room adjoining, where he sat himself on a bench, and thrusting her into a +chair, held her down by force. She struggled and implored by turns until twelve +o’clock had struck, and then, wearied and exhausted, ceased to contest the +point any further. With a caution, backed by many oaths, to make no more +efforts to go out that night, Sikes left her to recover at leisure and rejoined +Fagin. +</p> + +<p> +“Whew!” said the housebreaker wiping the perspiration from his face. “Wot a +precious strange gal that is!” +</p> + +<p> +“You may say that, Bill,” replied Fagin thoughtfully. “You may say that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wot did she take it into her head to go out tonight for, do you think?” asked +Sikes. “Come; you should know her better than me. Wot does it mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Obstinacy; woman’s obstinacy, I suppose, my dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I suppose it is,” growled Sikes. “I thought I had tamed her, but she’s +as bad as ever.” +</p> + +<p> +“Worse,” said Fagin thoughtfully. “I never knew her like this, for such a +little cause.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor I,” said Sikes. “I think she’s got a touch of that fever in her blood yet, +and it won’t come out—eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Like enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll let her a little blood, without troubling the doctor, if she’s took that +way again,” said Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +Fagin nodded an expressive approval of this mode of treatment. +</p> + +<p> +“She was hanging about me all day, and night too, when I was stretched on my +back; and you, like a blackhearted wolf as you are, kept yourself aloof,” said +Sikes. “We was poor too, all the time, and I think, one way or other, it’s +worried and fretted her; and that being shut up here so long has made her +restless—eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it, my dear,” replied the Jew in a whisper. “Hush!” +</p> + +<p> +As he uttered these words, the girl herself appeared and resumed her former +seat. Her eyes were swollen and red; she rocked herself to and fro; tossed her +head; and, after a little time, burst out laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, now she’s on the other tack!” exclaimed Sikes, turning a look of +excessive surprise on his companion. +</p> + +<p> +Fagin nodded to him to take no further notice just then; and, in a few minutes, +the girl subsided into her accustomed demeanour. Whispering Sikes that there +was no fear of her relapsing, Fagin took up his hat and bade him good-night. He +paused when he reached the room-door, and looking round, asked if somebody +would light him down the dark stairs. +</p> + +<p> +“Light him down,” said Sikes, who was filling his pipe. “It’s a pity he should +break his neck himself, and disappoint the sight-seers. Show him a light.” +</p> + +<p> +Nancy followed the old man downstairs, with a candle. When they reached the +passage, he laid his finger on his lip, and drawing close to the girl, said, in +a whisper. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it, Nancy, dear?” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” replied the girl, in the same tone. +</p> + +<p> +“The reason of all this,” replied Fagin. “If <i>he</i>”—he pointed with his +skinny fore-finger up the stairs—“is so hard with you (he’s a brute, Nance, a +brute-beast), why don’t you—” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” said the girl, as Fagin paused, with his mouth almost touching her ear, +and his eyes looking into hers. +</p> + +<p> +“No matter just now. We’ll talk of this again. You have a friend in me, Nance; +a staunch friend. I have the means at hand, quiet and close. If you want +revenge on those that treat you like a dog—like a dog! worse than his dog, for +he humours him sometimes—come to me. I say, come to me. He is the mere hound of +a day, but you know me of old, Nance.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know you well,” replied the girl, without manifesting the least emotion. +“Good-night.” +</p> + +<p> +She shrank back, as Fagin offered to lay his hand on hers, but said good-night +again, in a steady voice, and, answering his parting look with a nod of +intelligence, closed the door between them. +</p> + +<p> +Fagin walked towards his home, intent upon the thoughts that were working +within his brain. He had conceived the idea—not from what had just passed +though that had tended to confirm him, but slowly and by degrees—that Nancy, +wearied of the housebreaker’s brutality, had conceived an attachment for some +new friend. Her altered manner, her repeated absences from home alone, her +comparative indifference to the interests of the gang for which she had once +been so zealous, and, added to these, her desperate impatience to leave home +that night at a particular hour, all favoured the supposition, and rendered it, +to him at least, almost matter of certainty. The object of this new liking was +not among his myrmidons. He would be a valuable acquisition with such an +assistant as Nancy, and must (thus Fagin argued) be secured without delay. +</p> + +<p> +There was another, and a darker object, to be gained. Sikes knew too much, and +his ruffian taunts had not galled Fagin the less, because the wounds were +hidden. The girl must know, well, that if she shook him off, she could never be +safe from his fury, and that it would be surely wreaked—to the maiming of +limbs, or perhaps the loss of life—on the object of her more recent fancy. +</p> + +<p> +“With a little persuasion,” thought Fagin, “what more likely than that she +would consent to poison him? Women have done such things, and worse, to secure +the same object before now. There would be the dangerous villain: the man I +hate: gone; another secured in his place; and my influence over the girl, with +a knowledge of this crime to back it, unlimited.” +</p> + +<p> +These things passed through the mind of Fagin, during the short time he sat +alone, in the housebreaker’s room; and with them uppermost in his thoughts, he +had taken the opportunity afterwards afforded him, of sounding the girl in the +broken hints he threw out at parting. There was no expression of surprise, no +assumption of an inability to understand his meaning. The girl clearly +comprehended it. Her glance at parting showed <i>that</i>. +</p> + +<p> +But perhaps she would recoil from a plot to take the life of Sikes, and that +was one of the chief ends to be attained. “How,” thought Fagin, as he crept +homeward, “can I increase my influence with her? What new power can I acquire?” +</p> + +<p> +Such brains are fertile in expedients. If, without extracting a confession from +herself, he laid a watch, discovered the object of her altered regard, and +threatened to reveal the whole history to Sikes (of whom she stood in no common +fear) unless she entered into his designs, could he not secure her compliance? +</p> + +<p> +“I can,” said Fagin, almost aloud. “She durst not refuse me then. Not for her +life, not for her life! I have it all. The means are ready, and shall be set to +work. I shall have you yet!” +</p> + +<p> +He cast back a dark look, and a threatening motion of the hand, towards the +spot where he had left the bolder villain; and went on his way: busying his +bony hands in the folds of his tattered garment, which he wrenched tightly in +his grasp, as though there were a hated enemy crushed with every motion of his +fingers. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap45"></a> CHAPTER XLV.<br/> +NOAH CLAYPOLE IS EMPLOYED BY FAGIN ON A SECRET MISSION</h2> + +<p> +The old man was up, betimes, next morning, and waited impatiently for the +appearance of his new associate, who after a delay that seemed interminable, at +length presented himself, and commenced a voracious assault on the breakfast. +</p> + +<p> +“Bolter,” said Fagin, drawing up a chair and seating himself opposite Morris +Bolter. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, here I am,” returned Noah. “What’s the matter? Don’t yer ask me to do +anything till I have done eating. That’s a great fault in this place. Yer never +get time enough over yer meals.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can talk as you eat, can’t you?” said Fagin, cursing his dear young +friend’s greediness from the very bottom of his heart. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes, I can talk. I get on better when I talk,” said Noah, cutting a +monstrous slice of bread. “Where’s Charlotte?” +</p> + +<p> +“Out,” said Fagin. “I sent her out this morning with the other young woman, +because I wanted us to be alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said Noah. “I wish yer’d ordered her to make some buttered toast first. +Well. Talk away. Yer won’t interrupt me.” +</p> + +<p> +There seemed, indeed, no great fear of anything interrupting him, as he had +evidently sat down with a determination to do a great deal of business. +</p> + +<p> +“You did well yesterday, my dear,” said Fagin. “Beautiful! Six shillings and +ninepence halfpenny on the very first day! The kinchin lay will be a fortune to +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you forget to add three pint-pots and a milk-can,” said Mr. Bolter. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, my dear. The pint-pots were great strokes of genius: but the milk-can +was a perfect masterpiece.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pretty well, I think, for a beginner,” remarked Mr. Bolter complacently. “The +pots I took off airy railings, and the milk-can was standing by itself outside +a public-house. I thought it might get rusty with the rain, or catch cold, yer +know. Eh? Ha! ha! ha!” +</p> + +<p> +Fagin affected to laugh very heartily; and Mr. Bolter having had his laugh out, +took a series of large bites, which finished his first hunk of bread and +butter, and assisted himself to a second. +</p> + +<p> +“I want you, Bolter,” said Fagin, leaning over the table, “to do a piece of +work for me, my dear, that needs great care and caution.” +</p> + +<p> +“I say,” rejoined Bolter, “don’t yer go shoving me into danger, or sending me +any more o’ yer police-offices. That don’t suit me, that don’t; and so I tell +yer.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s not the smallest danger in it—not the very smallest,” said the Jew; +“it’s only to dodge a woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“An old woman?” demanded Mr. Bolter. +</p> + +<p> +“A young one,” replied Fagin. +</p> + +<p> +“I can do that pretty well, I know,” said Bolter. “I was a regular cunning +sneak when I was at school. What am I to dodge her for? Not to—” +</p> + +<p> +“Not to do anything, but to tell me where she goes, who she sees, and, if +possible, what she says; to remember the street, if it is a street, or the +house, if it is a house; and to bring me back all the information you can.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’ll yer give me?” asked Noah, setting down his cup, and looking his +employer, eagerly, in the face. +</p> + +<p> +“If you do it well, a pound, my dear. One pound,” said Fagin, wishing to +interest him in the scent as much as possible. “And that’s what I never gave +yet, for any job of work where there wasn’t valuable consideration to be +gained.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is she?” inquired Noah. +</p> + +<p> +“One of us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh Lor!” cried Noah, curling up his nose. “Yer doubtful of her, are yer?” +</p> + +<p> +“She has found out some new friends, my dear, and I must know who they are,” +replied Fagin. +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” said Noah. “Just to have the pleasure of knowing them, if they’re +respectable people, eh? Ha! ha! ha! I’m your man.” +</p> + +<p> +“I knew you would be,” cried Fagin, elated by the success of his proposal. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, of course,” replied Noah. “Where is she? Where am I to wait for +her? Where am I to go?” +</p> + +<p> +“All that, my dear, you shall hear from me. I’ll point her out at the proper +time,” said Fagin. “You keep ready, and leave the rest to me.” +</p> + +<p> +That night, and the next, and the next again, the spy sat booted and equipped +in his carter’s dress: ready to turn out at a word from Fagin. Six nights +passed—six long weary nights—and on each, Fagin came home with a disappointed +face, and briefly intimated that it was not yet time. On the seventh, he +returned earlier, and with an exultation he could not conceal. It was Sunday. +</p> + +<p> +“She goes abroad tonight,” said Fagin, “and on the right errand, I’m sure; for +she has been alone all day, and the man she is afraid of will not be back much +before daybreak. Come with me. Quick!” +</p> + +<p> +Noah started up without saying a word; for the Jew was in a state of such +intense excitement that it infected him. They left the house stealthily, and +hurrying through a labyrinth of streets, arrived at length before a +public-house, which Noah recognised as the same in which he had slept, on the +night of his arrival in London. +</p> + +<p> +It was past eleven o’clock, and the door was closed. It opened softly on its +hinges as Fagin gave a low whistle. They entered, without noise; and the door +was closed behind them. +</p> + +<p> +Scarcely venturing to whisper, but substituting dumb show for words, Fagin, and +the young Jew who had admitted them, pointed out the pane of glass to Noah, and +signed to him to climb up and observe the person in the adjoining room. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that the woman?” he asked, scarcely above his breath. +</p> + +<p> +Fagin nodded yes. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t see her face well,” whispered Noah. “She is looking down, and the +candle is behind her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stay there,” whispered Fagin. He signed to Barney, who withdrew. In an +instant, the lad entered the room adjoining, and, under pretence of snuffing +the candle, moved it in the required position, and, speaking to the girl, +caused her to raise her face. +</p> + +<p> +“I see her now,” cried the spy. +</p> + +<p> +“Plainly?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should know her among a thousand.” +</p> + +<p> +He hastily descended, as the room-door opened, and the girl came out. Fagin +drew him behind a small partition which was curtained off, and they held their +breaths as she passed within a few feet of their place of concealment, and +emerged by the door at which they had entered. +</p> + +<p> +“Hist!” cried the lad who held the door. “Dow.” +</p> + +<p> +Noah exchanged a look with Fagin, and darted out. +</p> + +<p> +“To the left,” whispered the lad; “take the left had, and keep od the other +side.” +</p> + +<p> +He did so; and, by the light of the lamps, saw the girl’s retreating figure, +already at some distance before him. He advanced as near as he considered +prudent, and kept on the opposite side of the street, the better to observe her +motions. She looked nervously round, twice or thrice, and once stopped to let +two men who were following close behind her, pass on. She seemed to gather +courage as she advanced, and to walk with a steadier and firmer step. The spy +preserved the same relative distance between them, and followed: with his eye +upon her. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap46"></a> CHAPTER XLVI.<br/> +THE APPOINTMENT KEPT</h2> + +<p> +The church clocks chimed three quarters past eleven, as two figures emerged on +London Bridge. One, which advanced with a swift and rapid step, was that of a +woman who looked eagerly about her as though in quest of some expected object; +the other figure was that of a man, who slunk along in the deepest shadow he +could find, and, at some distance, accommodated his pace to hers: stopping when +she stopped: and as she moved again, creeping stealthily on: but never allowing +himself, in the ardour of his pursuit, to gain upon her footsteps. Thus, they +crossed the bridge, from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore, when the woman, +apparently disappointed in her anxious scrutiny of the foot-passengers, turned +back. The movement was sudden; but he who watched her, was not thrown off his +guard by it; for, shrinking into one of the recesses which surmount the piers +of the bridge, and leaning over the parapet the better to conceal his figure, +he suffered her to pass on the opposite pavement. When she was about the same +distance in advance as she had been before, he slipped quietly down, and +followed her again. At nearly the centre of the bridge, she stopped. The man +stopped too. +</p> + +<p> +It was a very dark night. The day had been unfavourable, and at that hour and +place there were few people stirring. Such as there were, hurried quickly past: +very possibly without seeing, but certainly without noticing, either the woman, +or the man who kept her in view. Their appearance was not calculated to attract +the importunate regards of such of London’s destitute population, as chanced to +take their way over the bridge that night in search of some cold arch or +doorless hovel wherein to lay their heads; they stood there in silence: neither +speaking nor spoken to, by any one who passed. +</p> + +<p> +A mist hung over the river, deepening the red glare of the fires that burnt +upon the small craft moored off the different wharfs, and rendering darker and +more indistinct the murky buildings on the banks. The old smoke-stained +storehouses on either side, rose heavy and dull from the dense mass of roofs +and gables, and frowned sternly upon water too black to reflect even their +lumbering shapes. The tower of old Saint Saviour’s Church, and the spire of +Saint Magnus, so long the giant-warders of the ancient bridge, were visible in +the gloom; but the forest of shipping below bridge, and the thickly scattered +spires of churches above, were nearly all hidden from sight. +</p> + +<p> +The girl had taken a few restless turns to and fro—closely watched meanwhile by +her hidden observer—when the heavy bell of St. Paul’s tolled for the death of +another day. Midnight had come upon the crowded city. The palace, the +night-cellar, the jail, the madhouse: the chambers of birth and death, of +health and sickness, the rigid face of the corpse and the calm sleep of the +child: midnight was upon them all. +</p> + +<p> +The hour had not struck two minutes, when a young lady, accompanied by a +grey-haired gentleman, alighted from a hackney-carriage within a short distance +of the bridge, and, having dismissed the vehicle, walked straight towards it. +They had scarcely set foot upon its pavement, when the girl started, and +immediately made towards them. +</p> + +<p> +They walked onward, looking about them with the air of persons who entertained +some very slight expectation which had little chance of being realised, when +they were suddenly joined by this new associate. They halted with an +exclamation of surprise, but suppressed it immediately; for a man in the +garments of a countryman came close up—brushed against them, indeed—at that +precise moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Not here,” said Nancy hurriedly, “I am afraid to speak to you here. Come +away—out of the public road—down the steps yonder!” +</p> + +<p> +As she uttered these words, and indicated, with her hand, the direction in +which she wished them to proceed, the countryman looked round, and roughly +asking what they took up the whole pavement for, passed on. +</p> + +<p> +The steps to which the girl had pointed, were those which, on the Surrey bank, +and on the same side of the bridge as Saint Saviour’s Church, form a +landing-stairs from the river. To this spot, the man bearing the appearance of +a countryman, hastened unobserved; and after a moment’s survey of the place, he +began to descend. +</p> + +<p> +These stairs are a part of the bridge; they consist of three flights. Just +below the end of the second, going down, the stone wall on the left terminates +in an ornamental pilaster facing towards the Thames. At this point the lower +steps widen: so that a person turning that angle of the wall, is necessarily +unseen by any others on the stairs who chance to be above him, if only a step. +The countryman looked hastily round, when he reached this point; and as there +seemed no better place of concealment, and, the tide being out, there was +plenty of room, he slipped aside, with his back to the pilaster, and there +waited: pretty certain that they would come no lower, and that even if he could +not hear what was said, he could follow them again, with safety. +</p> + +<p> +So tardily stole the time in this lonely place, and so eager was the spy to +penetrate the motives of an interview so different from what he had been led to +expect, that he more than once gave the matter up for lost, and persuaded +himself, either that they had stopped far above, or had resorted to some +entirely different spot to hold their mysterious conversation. He was on the +point of emerging from his hiding-place, and regaining the road above, when he +heard the sound of footsteps, and directly afterwards of voices almost close at +his ear. +</p> + +<p> +He drew himself straight upright against the wall, and, scarcely breathing, +listened attentively. +</p> + +<p> +“This is far enough,” said a voice, which was evidently that of the gentleman. +“I will not suffer the young lady to go any farther. Many people would have +distrusted you too much to have come even so far, but you see I am willing to +humour you.” +</p> + +<p> +“To humour me!” cried the voice of the girl whom he had followed. “You’re +considerate, indeed, sir. To humour me! Well, well, it’s no matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, for what,” said the gentleman in a kinder tone, “for what purpose can you +have brought us to this strange place? Why not have let me speak to you, above +there, where it is light, and there is something stirring, instead of bringing +us to this dark and dismal hole?” +</p> + +<p> +“I told you before,” replied Nancy, “that I was afraid to speak to you there. I +don’t know why it is,” said the girl, shuddering, “but I have such a fear and +dread upon me tonight that I can hardly stand.” +</p> + +<p> +“A fear of what?” asked the gentleman, who seemed to pity her. +</p> + +<p> +“I scarcely know of what,” replied the girl. “I wish I did. Horrible thoughts +of death, and shrouds with blood upon them, and a fear that has made me burn as +if I was on fire, have been upon me all day. I was reading a book tonight, to +wile the time away, and the same things came into the print.” +</p> + +<p> +“Imagination,” said the gentleman, soothing her. +</p> + +<p> +“No imagination,” replied the girl in a hoarse voice. “I’ll swear I saw +‘coffin’ written in every page of the book in large black letters,—aye, and +they carried one close to me, in the streets tonight.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is nothing unusual in that,” said the gentleman. “They have passed me +often.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Real ones</i>,” rejoined the girl. “This was not.” +</p> + +<p> +There was something so uncommon in her manner, that the flesh of the concealed +listener crept as he heard the girl utter these words, and the blood chilled +within him. He had never experienced a greater relief than in hearing the sweet +voice of the young lady as she begged her to be calm, and not allow herself to +become the prey of such fearful fancies. +</p> + +<p> +“Speak to her kindly,” said the young lady to her companion. “Poor creature! +She seems to need it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your haughty religious people would have held their heads up to see me as I am +tonight, and preached of flames and vengeance,” cried the girl. “Oh, dear +lady, why ar’n’t those who claim to be God’s own folks as gentle and as kind to +us poor wretches as you, who, having youth, and beauty, and all that they have +lost, might be a little proud instead of so much humbler?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said the gentleman. “A Turk turns his face, after washing it well, to the +East, when he says his prayers; these good people, after giving their faces +such a rub against the World as to take the smiles off, turn with no less +regularity, to the darkest side of Heaven. Between the Mussulman and the +Pharisee, commend me to the first!” +</p> + +<p> +These words appeared to be addressed to the young lady, and were perhaps +uttered with the view of affording Nancy time to recover herself. The +gentleman, shortly afterwards, addressed himself to her. +</p> + +<p> +“You were not here last Sunday night,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I couldn’t come,” replied Nancy; “I was kept by force.” +</p> + +<p> +“By whom?” +</p> + +<p> +“Him that I told the young lady of before.” +</p> + +<p> +“You were not suspected of holding any communication with anybody on the +subject which has brought us here tonight, I hope?” asked the old gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied the girl, shaking her head. “It’s not very easy for me to leave +him unless he knows why; I couldn’t give him a drink of laudanum before I came +away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did he awake before you returned?” inquired the gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“No; and neither he nor any of them suspect me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good,” said the gentleman. “Now listen to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am ready,” replied the girl, as he paused for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“This young lady,” the gentleman began, “has communicated to me, and to some +other friends who can be safely trusted, what you told her nearly a fortnight +since. I confess to you that I had doubts, at first, whether you were to be +implicitly relied upon, but now I firmly believe you are.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am,” said the girl earnestly. +</p> + +<p> +“I repeat that I firmly believe it. To prove to you that I am disposed to trust +you, I tell you without reserve, that we propose to extort the secret, whatever +it may be, from the fear of this man Monks. But if—if—” said the gentleman, “he +cannot be secured, or, if secured, cannot be acted upon as we wish, you must +deliver up the Jew.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fagin,” cried the girl, recoiling. +</p> + +<p> +“That man must be delivered up by you,” said the gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“I will not do it! I will never do it!” replied the girl. “Devil that he is, +and worse than devil as he has been to me, I will never do that.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will not?” said the gentleman, who seemed fully prepared for this answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Never!” returned the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me why?” +</p> + +<p> +“For one reason,” rejoined the girl firmly, “for one reason, that the lady +knows and will stand by me in, I know she will, for I have her promise: and for +this other reason, besides, that, bad life as he has led, I have led a bad life +too; there are many of us who have kept the same courses together, and I’ll not +turn upon them, who might—any of them—have turned upon me, but didn’t, bad as +they are.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” said the gentleman, quickly, as if this had been the point he had been +aiming to attain; “put Monks into my hands, and leave him to me to deal with.” +</p> + +<p> +“What if he turns against the others?” +</p> + +<p> +“I promise you that in that case, if the truth is forced from him, there the +matter will rest; there must be circumstances in Oliver’s little history which +it would be painful to drag before the public eye, and if the truth is once +elicited, they shall go scot free.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if it is not?” suggested the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” pursued the gentleman, “this Fagin shall not be brought to justice +without your consent. In such a case I could show you reasons, I think, which +would induce you to yield it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have I the lady’s promise for that?” asked the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“You have,” replied Rose. “My true and faithful pledge.” +</p> + +<p> +“Monks would never learn how you knew what you do?” said the girl, after a +short pause. +</p> + +<p> +“Never,” replied the gentleman. “The intelligence should be brought to bear +upon him, that he could never even guess.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have been a liar, and among liars from a little child,” said the girl after +another interval of silence, “but I will take your words.” +</p> + +<p> +After receiving an assurance from both, that she might safely do so, she +proceeded in a voice so low that it was often difficult for the listener to +discover even the purport of what she said, to describe, by name and situation, +the public-house whence she had been followed that night. From the manner in +which she occasionally paused, it appeared as if the gentleman were making some +hasty notes of the information she communicated. When she had thoroughly +explained the localities of the place, the best position from which to watch it +without exciting observation, and the night and hour on which Monks was most in +the habit of frequenting it, she seemed to consider for a few moments, for the +purpose of recalling his features and appearances more forcibly to her +recollection. +</p> + +<p> +“He is tall,” said the girl, “and a strongly made man, but not stout; he has a +lurking walk; and as he walks, constantly looks over his shoulder, first on one +side, and then on the other. Don’t forget that, for his eyes are sunk in his +head so much deeper than any other man’s, that you might almost tell him by +that alone. His face is dark, like his hair and eyes; and, although he can’t be +more than six or eight and twenty, withered and haggard. His lips are often +discoloured and disfigured with the marks of teeth; for he has desperate fits, +and sometimes even bites his hands and covers them with wounds—why did you +start?” said the girl, stopping suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +The gentleman replied, in a hurried manner, that he was not conscious of having +done so, and begged her to proceed. +</p> + +<p> +“Part of this,” said the girl, “I have drawn out from other people at the house +I tell you of, for I have only seen him twice, and both times he was covered up +in a large cloak. I think that’s all I can give you to know him by. Stay +though,” she added. “Upon his throat: so high that you can see a part of it +below his neckerchief when he turns his face: there is—” +</p> + +<p> +“A broad red mark, like a burn or scald?” cried the gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“How’s this?” said the girl. “You know him!” +</p> + +<p> +The young lady uttered a cry of surprise, and for a few moments they were so +still that the listener could distinctly hear them breathe. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I do,” said the gentleman, breaking silence. “I should by your +description. We shall see. Many people are singularly like each other. It may +not be the same.” +</p> + +<p> +As he expressed himself to this effect, with assumed carelessness, he took a +step or two nearer the concealed spy, as the latter could tell from the +distinctness with which he heard him mutter, “It must be he!” +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” he said, returning: so it seemed by the sound: to the spot where he had +stood before, “you have given us most valuable assistance, young woman, and I +wish you to be the better for it. What can I do to serve you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” replied Nancy. +</p> + +<p> +“You will not persist in saying that,” rejoined the gentleman, with a voice and +emphasis of kindness that might have touched a much harder and more obdurate +heart. “Think now. Tell me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing, sir,” rejoined the girl, weeping. “You can do nothing to help me. I +am past all hope, indeed.” +</p> + +<p> +“You put yourself beyond its pale,” said the gentleman. “The past has been a +dreary waste with you, of youthful energies mis-spent, and such priceless +treasures lavished, as the Creator bestows but once and never grants again, +but, for the future, you may hope. I do not say that it is in our power to +offer you peace of heart and mind, for that must come as you seek it; but a +quiet asylum, either in England, or, if you fear to remain here, in some +foreign country, it is not only within the compass of our ability but our most +anxious wish to secure you. Before the dawn of morning, before this river wakes +to the first glimpse of day-light, you shall be placed as entirely beyond the +reach of your former associates, and leave as utter an absence of all trace +behind you, as if you were to disappear from the earth this moment. Come! I +would not have you go back to exchange one word with any old companion, or take +one look at any old haunt, or breathe the very air which is pestilence and +death to you. Quit them all, while there is time and opportunity!” +</p> + +<p> +“She will be persuaded now,” cried the young lady. “She hesitates, I am sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fear not, my dear,” said the gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“No sir, I do not,” replied the girl, after a short struggle. “I am chained to +my old life. I loathe and hate it now, but I cannot leave it. I must have gone +too far to turn back,—and yet I don’t know, for if you had spoken to me so, +some time ago, I should have laughed it off. But,” she said, looking hastily +round, “this fear comes over me again. I must go home.” +</p> + +<p> +“Home!” repeated the young lady, with great stress upon the word. +</p> + +<p> +“Home, lady,” rejoined the girl. “To such a home as I have raised for myself +with the work of my whole life. Let us part. I shall be watched or seen. Go! +Go! If I have done you any service all I ask is, that you leave me, and let me +go my way alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is useless,” said the gentleman, with a sigh. “We compromise her safety, +perhaps, by staying here. We may have detained her longer than she expected +already.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes,” urged the girl. “You have.” +</p> + +<p> +“What,” cried the young lady, “can be the end of this poor creature’s life!” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” repeated the girl. “Look before you, lady. Look at that dark water. How +many times do you read of such as I who spring into the tide, and leave no +living thing, to care for, or bewail them. It may be years hence, or it may be +only months, but I shall come to that at last.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do not speak thus, pray,” returned the young lady, sobbing. +</p> + +<p> +“It will never reach your ears, dear lady, and God forbid such horrors should!” +replied the girl. “Good-night, good-night!” +</p> + +<p> +The gentleman turned away. +</p> + +<p> +“This purse,” cried the young lady. “Take it for my sake, that you may have +some resource in an hour of need and trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” replied the girl. “I have not done this for money. Let me have that to +think of. And yet—give me something that you have worn: I should like to have +something—no, no, not a ring—your gloves or handkerchief—anything that I can +keep, as having belonged to you, sweet lady. There. Bless you! God bless you. +Good-night, good-night!” +</p> + +<p> +The violent agitation of the girl, and the apprehension of some discovery which +would subject her to ill-usage and violence, seemed to determine the gentleman +to leave her, as she requested. +</p> + +<p> +The sound of retreating footsteps were audible and the voices ceased. +</p> + +<p> +The two figures of the young lady and her companion soon afterwards appeared +upon the bridge. They stopped at the summit of the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +“Hark!” cried the young lady, listening. “Did she call! I thought I heard her +voice.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, my love,” replied Mr. Brownlow, looking sadly back. “She has not moved, +and will not till we are gone.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose Maylie lingered, but the old gentleman drew her arm through his, and led +her, with gentle force, away. As they disappeared, the girl sunk down nearly at +her full length upon one of the stone stairs, and vented the anguish of her +heart in bitter tears. +</p> + +<p> +After a time she arose, and with feeble and tottering steps ascended the +street. The astonished listener remained motionless on his post for some +minutes afterwards, and having ascertained, with many cautious glances round +him, that he was again alone, crept slowly from his hiding-place, and returned, +stealthily and in the shade of the wall, in the same manner as he had +descended. +</p> + +<p> +Peeping out, more than once, when he reached the top, to make sure that he was +unobserved, Noah Claypole darted away at his utmost speed, and made for the +Jew’s house as fast as his legs would carry him. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap47"></a> CHAPTER XLVII.<br/> +FATAL CONSEQUENCES</h2> + +<p> +It was nearly two hours before day-break; that time which in the autumn of the +year, may be truly called the dead of night; when the streets are silent and +deserted; when even sounds appear to slumber, and profligacy and riot have +staggered home to dream; it was at this still and silent hour, that Fagin sat +watching in his old lair, with face so distorted and pale, and eyes so red and +blood-shot, that he looked less like a man, than like some hideous phantom, +moist from the grave, and worried by an evil spirit. +</p> + +<p> +He sat crouching over a cold hearth, wrapped in an old torn coverlet, with his +face turned towards a wasting candle that stood upon a table by his side. His +right hand was raised to his lips, and as, absorbed in thought, he bit his long +black nails, he disclosed among his toothless gums a few such fangs as should +have been a dog’s or rat’s. +</p> + +<p> +Stretched upon a mattress on the floor, lay Noah Claypole, fast asleep. Towards +him the old man sometimes directed his eyes for an instant, and then brought +them back again to the candle; which with a long-burnt wick drooping almost +double, and hot grease falling down in clots upon the table, plainly showed +that his thoughts were busy elsewhere. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed they were. Mortification at the overthrow of his notable scheme; hatred +of the girl who had dared to palter with strangers; and utter distrust of the +sincerity of her refusal to yield him up; bitter disappointment at the loss of +his revenge on Sikes; the fear of detection, and ruin, and death; and a fierce +and deadly rage kindled by all; these were the passionate considerations which, +following close upon each other with rapid and ceaseless whirl, shot through +the brain of Fagin, as every evil thought and blackest purpose lay working at +his heart. +</p> + +<p> +He sat without changing his attitude in the least, or appearing to take the +smallest heed of time, until his quick ear seemed to be attracted by a footstep +in the street. +</p> + +<p> +“At last,” he muttered, wiping his dry and fevered mouth. “At last!” +</p> + +<p> +The bell rang gently as he spoke. He crept upstairs to the door, and presently +returned accompanied by a man muffled to the chin, who carried a bundle under +one arm. Sitting down and throwing back his outer coat, the man displayed the +burly frame of Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +“There!” he said, laying the bundle on the table. “Take care of that, and do +the most you can with it. It’s been trouble enough to get; I thought I should +have been here, three hours ago.” +</p> + +<p> +Fagin laid his hand upon the bundle, and locking it in the cupboard, sat down +again without speaking. But he did not take his eyes off the robber, for an +instant, during this action; and now that they sat over against each other, +face to face, he looked fixedly at him, with his lips quivering so violently, +and his face so altered by the emotions which had mastered him, that the +housebreaker involuntarily drew back his chair, and surveyed him with a look of +real affright. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot now?” cried Sikes. “Wot do you look at a man so for?” +</p> + +<p> +Fagin raised his right hand, and shook his trembling forefinger in the air; but +his passion was so great, that the power of speech was for the moment gone. +</p> + +<p> +“Damme!” said Sikes, feeling in his breast with a look of alarm. “He’s gone +mad. I must look to myself here.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” rejoined Fagin, finding his voice. “It’s not—you’re not the person, +Bill. I’ve no—no fault to find with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you haven’t, haven’t you?” said Sikes, looking sternly at him, and +ostentatiously passing a pistol into a more convenient pocket. “That’s +lucky—for one of us. Which one that is, don’t matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got that to tell you, Bill,” said Fagin, drawing his chair nearer, “will +make you worse than me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aye?” returned the robber with an incredulous air. “Tell away! Look sharp, or +Nance will think I’m lost.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lost!” cried Fagin. “She has pretty well settled that, in her own mind, +already.” +</p> + +<p> +Sikes looked with an aspect of great perplexity into the Jew’s face, and +reading no satisfactory explanation of the riddle there, clenched his coat +collar in his huge hand and shook him soundly. +</p> + +<p> +“Speak, will you!” he said; “or if you don’t, it shall be for want of breath. +Open your mouth and say wot you’ve got to say in plain words. Out with it, you +thundering old cur, out with it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose that lad that’s laying there—” Fagin began. +</p> + +<p> +Sikes turned round to where Noah was sleeping, as if he had not previously +observed him. “Well!” he said, resuming his former position. +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose that lad,” pursued Fagin, “was to peach—to blow upon us all—first +seeking out the right folks for the purpose, and then having a meeting with ’em +in the street to paint our likenesses, describe every mark that they might know +us by, and the crib where we might be most easily taken. Suppose he was to do +all this, and besides to blow upon a plan we’ve all been in, more or less—of +his own fancy; not grabbed, trapped, tried, earwigged by the parson and brought +to it on bread and water,—but of his own fancy; to please his own taste; +stealing out at nights to find those most interested against us, and peaching +to them. Do you hear me?” cried the Jew, his eyes flashing with rage. “Suppose +he did all this, what then?” +</p> + +<p> +“What then!” replied Sikes; with a tremendous oath. “If he was left alive till +I came, I’d grind his skull under the iron heel of my boot into as many grains +as there are hairs upon his head.” +</p> + +<p> +“What if I did it!” cried Fagin almost in a yell. “I, that knows so much, and +could hang so many besides myself!” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” replied Sikes, clenching his teeth and turning white at the +mere suggestion. “I’d do something in the jail that ’ud get me put in irons; +and if I was tried along with you, I’d fall upon you with them in the open +court, and beat your brains out afore the people. I should have such strength,” +muttered the robber, poising his brawny arm, “that I could smash your head as +if a loaded waggon had gone over it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You would?” +</p> + +<p> +“Would I!” said the housebreaker. “Try me.” +</p> + +<p> +“If it was Charley, or the Dodger, or Bet, or—” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care who,” replied Sikes impatiently. “Whoever it was, I’d serve them +the same.” +</p> + +<p> +Fagin looked hard at the robber; and, motioning him to be silent, stooped over +the bed upon the floor, and shook the sleeper to rouse him. Sikes leant forward +in his chair: looking on with his hands upon his knees, as if wondering much +what all this questioning and preparation was to end in. +</p> + +<p> +“Bolter, Bolter! Poor lad!” said Fagin, looking up with an expression of +devilish anticipation, and speaking slowly and with marked emphasis. “He’s +tired—tired with watching for her so long,—watching for <i>her</i>, Bill.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wot d’ye mean?” asked Sikes, drawing back. +</p> + +<p> +Fagin made no answer, but bending over the sleeper again, hauled him into a +sitting posture. When his assumed name had been repeated several times, Noah +rubbed his eyes, and, giving a heavy yawn, looked sleepily about him. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me that again—once again, just for him to hear,” said the Jew, pointing +to Sikes as he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell yer what?” asked the sleepy Noah, shaking himself pettishly. +</p> + +<p> +“That about— <i>Nancy</i>,” said Fagin, clutching Sikes by the wrist, as if to +prevent his leaving the house before he had heard enough. “You followed her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“To London Bridge?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where she met two people.” +</p> + +<p> +“So she did.” +</p> + +<p> +“A gentleman and a lady that she had gone to of her own accord before, who +asked her to give up all her pals, and Monks first, which she did—and to +describe him, which she did—and to tell her what house it was that we meet at, +and go to, which she did—and where it could be best watched from, which she +did—and what time the people went there, which she did. She did all this. She +told it all every word without a threat, without a murmur—she did—did she not?” +cried Fagin, half mad with fury. +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” replied Noah, scratching his head. “That’s just what it was!” +</p> + +<p> +“What did they say, about last Sunday?” +</p> + +<p> +“About last Sunday!” replied Noah, considering. “Why I told yer that before.” +</p> + +<p> +“Again. Tell it again!” cried Fagin, tightening his grasp on Sikes, and +brandishing his other hand aloft, as the foam flew from his lips. +</p> + +<p> +“They asked her,” said Noah, who, as he grew more wakeful, seemed to have a +dawning perception who Sikes was, “they asked her why she didn’t come, last +Sunday, as she promised. She said she couldn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why—why? Tell him that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Because she was forcibly kept at home by Bill, the man she had told them of +before,” replied Noah. +</p> + +<p> +“What more of him?” cried Fagin. “What more of the man she had told them of +before? Tell him that, tell him that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, that she couldn’t very easily get out of doors unless he knew where she +was going to,” said Noah; “and so the first time she went to see the lady, +she—ha! ha! ha! it made me laugh when she said it, that it did—she gave him a +drink of laudanum.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hell’s fire!” cried Sikes, breaking fiercely from the Jew. “Let me go!” +</p> + +<p> +Flinging the old man from him, he rushed from the room, and darted, wildly and +furiously, up the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +“Bill, Bill!” cried Fagin, following him hastily. “A word. Only a word.” +</p> + +<p> +The word would not have been exchanged, but that the housebreaker was unable to +open the door: on which he was expending fruitless oaths and violence, when the +Jew came panting up. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me out,” said Sikes. “Don’t speak to me; it’s not safe. Let me out, I +say!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hear me speak a word,” rejoined Fagin, laying his hand upon the lock. “You +won’t be—” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” replied the other. +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t be—too—violent, Bill?” +</p> + +<p> +The day was breaking, and there was light enough for the men to see each +other’s faces. They exchanged one brief glance; there was a fire in the eyes of +both, which could not be mistaken. +</p> + +<p> +“I mean,” said Fagin, showing that he felt all disguise was now useless, “not +too violent for safety. Be crafty, Bill, and not too bold.” +</p> + +<p> +Sikes made no reply; but, pulling open the door, of which Fagin had turned the +lock, dashed into the silent streets. +</p> + +<p> +Without one pause, or moment’s consideration; without once turning his head to +the right or left, or raising his eyes to the sky, or lowering them to the +ground, but looking straight before him with savage resolution: his teeth so +tightly compressed that the strained jaw seemed starting through his skin; the +robber held on his headlong course, nor muttered a word, nor relaxed a muscle, +until he reached his own door. He opened it, softly, with a key; strode lightly +up the stairs; and entering his own room, double-locked the door, and lifting a +heavy table against it, drew back the curtain of the bed. +</p> + +<p> +The girl was lying, half-dressed, upon it. He had roused her from her sleep, +for she raised herself with a hurried and startled look. +</p> + +<p> +“Get up!” said the man. +</p> + +<p> +“It is you, Bill!” said the girl, with an expression of pleasure at his return. +</p> + +<p> +“It is,” was the reply. “Get up.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a candle burning, but the man hastily drew it from the candlestick, +and hurled it under the grate. Seeing the faint light of early day without, the +girl rose to undraw the curtain. +</p> + +<p> +“Let it be,” said Sikes, thrusting his hand before her. “There’s enough light +for wot I’ve got to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bill,” said the girl, in the low voice of alarm, “why do you look like that at +me!” +</p> + +<p> +The robber sat regarding her, for a few seconds, with dilated nostrils and +heaving breast; and then, grasping her by the head and throat, dragged her into +the middle of the room, and looking once towards the door, placed his heavy +hand upon her mouth. +</p> + +<p> +“Bill, Bill!” gasped the girl, wrestling with the strength of mortal fear,—“I—I +won’t scream or cry—not once—hear me—speak to me—tell me what I have done!” +</p> + +<p> +“You know, you she devil!” returned the robber, suppressing his breath. “You +were watched tonight; every word you said was heard.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then spare my life for the love of Heaven, as I spared yours,” rejoined the +girl, clinging to him. “Bill, dear Bill, you cannot have the heart to kill me. +Oh! think of all I have given up, only this one night, for you. You +<i>shall</i> have time to think, and save yourself this crime; I will not loose +my hold, you cannot throw me off. Bill, Bill, for dear God’s sake, for your +own, for mine, stop before you spill my blood! I have been true to you, upon my +guilty soul I have!” +</p> + +<p> +The man struggled violently, to release his arms; but those of the girl were +clasped round his, and tear her as he would, he could not tear them away. +</p> + +<p> +“Bill,” cried the girl, striving to lay her head upon his breast, “the +gentleman and that dear lady, told me tonight of a home in some foreign +country where I could end my days in solitude and peace. Let me see them again, +and beg them, on my knees, to show the same mercy and goodness to you; and let +us both leave this dreadful place, and far apart lead better lives, and forget +how we have lived, except in prayers, and never see each other more. It is +never too late to repent. They told me so—I feel it now—but we must have time—a +little, little time!” +</p> + +<p> +The housebreaker freed one arm, and grasped his pistol. The certainty of +immediate detection if he fired, flashed across his mind even in the midst of +his fury; and he beat it twice with all the force he could summon, upon the +upturned face that almost touched his own. +</p> + +<p> +She staggered and fell: nearly blinded with the blood that rained down from a +deep gash in her forehead; but raising herself, with difficulty, on her knees, +drew from her bosom a white handkerchief—Rose Maylie’s own—and holding it up, +in her folded hands, as high towards Heaven as her feeble strength would allow, +breathed one prayer for mercy to her Maker. +</p> + +<p> +It was a ghastly figure to look upon. The murderer staggering backward to the +wall, and shutting out the sight with his hand, seized a heavy club and struck +her down. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap48"></a> CHAPTER XLVIII.<br/> +THE FLIGHT OF SIKES</h2> + +<p> +Of all bad deeds that, under cover of the darkness, had been committed within +wide London’s bounds since night hung over it, that was the worst. Of all the +horrors that rose with an ill scent upon the morning air, that was the foulest +and most cruel. +</p> + +<p> +The sun—the bright sun, that brings back, not light alone, but new life, and +hope, and freshness to man—burst upon the crowded city in clear and radiant +glory. Through costly-coloured glass and paper-mended window, through cathedral +dome and rotten crevice, it shed its equal ray. It lighted up the room where +the murdered woman lay. It did. He tried to shut it out, but it would stream +in. If the sight had been a ghastly one in the dull morning, what was it, now, +in all that brilliant light! +</p> + +<p> +He had not moved; he had been afraid to stir. There had been a moan and motion +of the hand; and, with terror added to rage, he had struck and struck again. +Once he threw a rug over it; but it was worse to fancy the eyes, and imagine +them moving towards him, than to see them glaring upward, as if watching the +reflection of the pool of gore that quivered and danced in the sunlight on the +ceiling. He had plucked it off again. And there was the body—mere flesh and +blood, no more—but such flesh, and so much blood! +</p> + +<p> +He struck a light, kindled a fire, and thrust the club into it. There was hair +upon the end, which blazed and shrunk into a light cinder, and, caught by the +air, whirled up the chimney. Even that frightened him, sturdy as he was; but he +held the weapon till it broke, and then piled it on the coals to burn away, and +smoulder into ashes. He washed himself, and rubbed his clothes; there were +spots that would not be removed, but he cut the pieces out, and burnt them. How +those stains were dispersed about the room! The very feet of the dog were +bloody. +</p> + +<p> +All this time he had, never once, turned his back upon the corpse; no, not for +a moment. Such preparations completed, he moved, backward, towards the door: +dragging the dog with him, lest he should soil his feet anew and carry out new +evidence of the crime into the streets. He shut the door softly, locked it, +took the key, and left the house. +</p> + +<p> +He crossed over, and glanced up at the window, to be sure that nothing was +visible from the outside. There was the curtain still drawn, which she would +have opened to admit the light she never saw again. It lay nearly under there. +<i>He</i> knew that. God, how the sun poured down upon the very spot! +</p> + +<p> +The glance was instantaneous. It was a relief to have got free of the room. He +whistled on the dog, and walked rapidly away. +</p> + +<p> +He went through Islington; strode up the hill at Highgate on which stands the +stone in honour of Whittington; turned down to Highgate Hill, unsteady of +purpose, and uncertain where to go; struck off to the right again, almost as +soon as he began to descend it; and taking the foot-path across the fields, +skirted Caen Wood, and so came on Hampstead Heath. Traversing the hollow by the +Vale of Heath, he mounted the opposite bank, and crossing the road which joins +the villages of Hampstead and Highgate, made along the remaining portion of the +heath to the fields at North End, in one of which he laid himself down under a +hedge, and slept. +</p> + +<p> +Soon he was up again, and away,—not far into the country, but back towards +London by the high-road—then back again—then over another part of the same +ground as he already traversed—then wandering up and down in fields, and lying +on ditches’ brinks to rest, and starting up to make for some other spot, and do +the same, and ramble on again. +</p> + +<p> +Where could he go, that was near and not too public, to get some meat and +drink? Hendon. That was a good place, not far off, and out of most people’s +way. Thither he directed his steps,—running sometimes, and sometimes, with a +strange perversity, loitering at a snail’s pace, or stopping altogether and +idly breaking the hedges with a stick. But when he got there, all the people he +met—the very children at the doors—seemed to view him with suspicion. Back he +turned again, without the courage to purchase bit or drop, though he had tasted +no food for many hours; and once more he lingered on the Heath, uncertain where +to go. +</p> + +<p> +He wandered over miles and miles of ground, and still came back to the old +place. Morning and noon had passed, and the day was on the wane, and still he +rambled to and fro, and up and down, and round and round, and still lingered +about the same spot. At last he got away, and shaped his course for Hatfield. +</p> + +<p> +It was nine o’clock at night, when the man, quite tired out, and the dog, +limping and lame from the unaccustomed exercise, turned down the hill by the +church of the quiet village, and plodding along the little street, crept into a +small public-house, whose scanty light had guided them to the spot. There was a +fire in the tap-room, and some country-labourers were drinking before it. +</p> + +<p> +They made room for the stranger, but he sat down in the furthest corner, and +ate and drank alone, or rather with his dog: to whom he cast a morsel of food +from time to time. +</p> + +<p> +The conversation of the men assembled here, turned upon the neighbouring land, +and farmers; and when those topics were exhausted, upon the age of some old man +who had been buried on the previous Sunday; the young men present considering +him very old, and the old men present declaring him to have been quite +young—not older, one white-haired grandfather said, than he was—with ten or +fifteen year of life in him at least—if he had taken care; if he had taken +care. +</p> + +<p> +There was nothing to attract attention, or excite alarm in this. The robber, +after paying his reckoning, sat silent and unnoticed in his corner, and had +almost dropped asleep, when he was half wakened by the noisy entrance of a new +comer. +</p> + +<p> +This was an antic fellow, half pedlar and half mountebank, who travelled about +the country on foot to vend hones, strops, razors, washballs, harness-paste, +medicine for dogs and horses, cheap perfumery, cosmetics, and such-like wares, +which he carried in a case slung to his back. His entrance was the signal for +various homely jokes with the countrymen, which slackened not until he had made +his supper, and opened his box of treasures, when he ingeniously contrived to +unite business with amusement. +</p> + +<p> +“And what be that stoof? Good to eat, Harry?” asked a grinning countryman, +pointing to some composition-cakes in one corner. +</p> + +<p> +“This,” said the fellow, producing one, “this is the infallible and invaluable +composition for removing all sorts of stain, rust, dirt, mildew, spick, speck, +spot, or spatter, from silk, satin, linen, cambric, cloth, crape, stuff, +carpet, merino, muslin, bombazeen, or woollen stuff. Wine-stains, fruit-stains, +beer-stains, water-stains, paint-stains, pitch-stains, any stains, all come out +at one rub with the infallible and invaluable composition. If a lady stains her +honour, she has only need to swallow one cake and she’s cured at once—for it’s +poison. If a gentleman wants to prove this, he has only need to bolt one little +square, and he has put it beyond question—for it’s quite as satisfactory as a +pistol-bullet, and a great deal nastier in the flavour, consequently the more +credit in taking it. One penny a square. With all these virtues, one penny a +square!” +</p> + +<p> +There were two buyers directly, and more of the listeners plainly hesitated. +The vendor observing this, increased in loquacity. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all bought up as fast as it can be made,” said the fellow. “There are +fourteen water-mills, six steam-engines, and a galvanic battery, always +a-working upon it, and they can’t make it fast enough, though the men work so +hard that they die off, and the widows is pensioned directly, with twenty pound +a-year for each of the children, and a premium of fifty for twins. One penny a +square! Two half-pence is all the same, and four farthings is received with +joy. One penny a square! Wine-stains, fruit-stains, beer-stains, water-stains, +paint-stains, pitch-stains, mud-stains, blood-stains! Here is a stain upon the +hat of a gentleman in company, that I’ll take clean out, before he can order me +a pint of ale.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hah!” cried Sikes starting up. “Give that back.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll take it clean out, sir,” replied the man, winking to the company, “before +you can come across the room to get it. Gentlemen all, observe the dark stain +upon this gentleman’s hat, no wider than a shilling, but thicker than a +half-crown. Whether it is a wine-stain, fruit-stain, beer-stain, water-stain, +paint-stain, pitch-stain, mud-stain, or blood-stain—” +</p> + +<p> +The man got no further, for Sikes with a hideous imprecation overthrew the +table, and tearing the hat from him, burst out of the house. +</p> + +<p> +With the same perversity of feeling and irresolution that had fastened upon +him, despite himself, all day, the murderer, finding that he was not followed, +and that they most probably considered him some drunken sullen fellow, turned +back up the town, and getting out of the glare of the lamps of a stage-coach +that was standing in the street, was walking past, when he recognised the mail +from London, and saw that it was standing at the little post-office. He almost +knew what was to come; but he crossed over, and listened. +</p> + +<p> +The guard was standing at the door, waiting for the letter-bag. A man, dressed +like a game-keeper, came up at the moment, and he handed him a basket which lay +ready on the pavement. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s for your people,” said the guard. “Now, look alive in there, will you. +Damn that ’ere bag, it warn’t ready night afore last; this won’t do, you know!” +</p> + +<p> +“Anything new up in town, Ben?” asked the game-keeper, drawing back to the +window-shutters, the better to admire the horses. +</p> + +<p> +“No, nothing that I knows on,” replied the man, pulling on his gloves. “Corn’s +up a little. I heerd talk of a murder, too, down Spitalfields way, but I don’t +reckon much upon it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that’s quite true,” said a gentleman inside, who was looking out of the +window. “And a dreadful murder it was.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was it, sir?” rejoined the guard, touching his hat. “Man or woman, pray, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“A woman,” replied the gentleman. “It is supposed—” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Ben,” replied the coachman impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +“Damn that ’ere bag,” said the guard; “are you gone to sleep in there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Coming!” cried the office keeper, running out. +</p> + +<p> +“Coming,” growled the guard. “Ah, and so’s the young ’ooman of property that’s +going to take a fancy to me, but I don’t know when. Here, give hold. All +ri—ight!” +</p> + +<p> +The horn sounded a few cheerful notes, and the coach was gone. +</p> + +<p> +Sikes remained standing in the street, apparently unmoved by what he had just +heard, and agitated by no stronger feeling than a doubt where to go. At length +he went back again, and took the road which leads from Hatfield to St. Albans. +</p> + +<p> +He went on doggedly; but as he left the town behind him, and plunged into the +solitude and darkness of the road, he felt a dread and awe creeping upon him +which shook him to the core. Every object before him, substance or shadow, +still or moving, took the semblance of some fearful thing; but these fears were +nothing compared to the sense that haunted him of that morning’s ghastly figure +following at his heels. He could trace its shadow in the gloom, supply the +smallest item of the outline, and note how stiff and solemn it seemed to stalk +along. He could hear its garments rustling in the leaves, and every breath of +wind came laden with that last low cry. If he stopped it did the same. If he +ran, it followed—not running too: that would have been a relief: but like a +corpse endowed with the mere machinery of life, and borne on one slow +melancholy wind that never rose or fell. +</p> + +<p> +At times, he turned, with desperate determination, resolved to beat this +phantom off, though it should look him dead; but the hair rose on his head, and +his blood stood still, for it had turned with him and was behind him then. He +had kept it before him that morning, but it was behind now—always. He leaned +his back against a bank, and felt that it stood above him, visibly out against +the cold night-sky. He threw himself upon the road—on his back upon the road. +At his head it stood, silent, erect, and still—a living grave-stone, with its +epitaph in blood. +</p> + +<p> +Let no man talk of murderers escaping justice, and hint that Providence must +sleep. There were twenty score of violent deaths in one long minute of that +agony of fear. +</p> + +<p> +There was a shed in a field he passed, that offered shelter for the night. +Before the door, were three tall poplar trees, which made it very dark within; +and the wind moaned through them with a dismal wail. He <i>could not</i> walk +on, till daylight came again; and here he stretched himself close to the +wall—to undergo new torture. +</p> + +<p> +For now, a vision came before him, as constant and more terrible than that from +which he had escaped. Those widely staring eyes, so lustreless and so glassy, +that he had better borne to see them than think upon them, appeared in the +midst of the darkness: light in themselves, but giving light to nothing. There +were but two, but they were everywhere. If he shut out the sight, there came +the room with every well-known object—some, indeed, that he would have +forgotten, if he had gone over its contents from memory—each in its accustomed +place. The body was in <i>its</i> place, and its eyes were as he saw them when +he stole away. He got up, and rushed into the field without. The figure was +behind him. He re-entered the shed, and shrunk down once more. The eyes were +there, before he had laid himself along. +</p> + +<p> +And here he remained in such terror as none but he can know, trembling in every +limb, and the cold sweat starting from every pore, when suddenly there arose +upon the night-wind the noise of distant shouting, and the roar of voices +mingled in alarm and wonder. Any sound of men in that lonely place, even though +it conveyed a real cause of alarm, was something to him. He regained his +strength and energy at the prospect of personal danger; and springing to his +feet, rushed into the open air. +</p> + +<p> +The broad sky seemed on fire. Rising into the air with showers of sparks, and +rolling one above the other, were sheets of flame, lighting the atmosphere for +miles round, and driving clouds of smoke in the direction where he stood. The +shouts grew louder as new voices swelled the roar, and he could hear the cry of +Fire! mingled with the ringing of an alarm-bell, the fall of heavy bodies, and +the crackling of flames as they twined round some new obstacle, and shot aloft +as though refreshed by food. The noise increased as he looked. There were +people there—men and women—light, bustle. It was like new life to him. He +darted onward—straight, headlong—dashing through brier and brake, and leaping +gate and fence as madly as his dog, who careered with loud and sounding bark +before him. +</p> + +<p> +He came upon the spot. There were half-dressed figures tearing to and fro, some +endeavouring to drag the frightened horses from the stables, others driving the +cattle from the yard and out-houses, and others coming laden from the burning +pile, amidst a shower of falling sparks, and the tumbling down of red-hot +beams. The apertures, where doors and windows stood an hour ago, disclosed a +mass of raging fire; walls rocked and crumbled into the burning well; the +molten lead and iron poured down, white hot, upon the ground. Women and +children shrieked, and men encouraged each other with noisy shouts and cheers. +The clanking of the engine-pumps, and the spirting and hissing of the water as +it fell upon the blazing wood, added to the tremendous roar. He shouted, too, +till he was hoarse; and flying from memory and himself, plunged into the +thickest of the throng. Hither and thither he dived that night: now working at +the pumps, and now hurrying through the smoke and flame, but never ceasing to +engage himself wherever noise and men were thickest. Up and down the ladders, +upon the roofs of buildings, over floors that quaked and trembled with his +weight, under the lee of falling bricks and stones, in every part of that great +fire was he; but he bore a charmed life, and had neither scratch nor bruise, +nor weariness nor thought, till morning dawned again, and only smoke and +blackened ruins remained. +</p> + +<p> +This mad excitement over, there returned, with ten-fold force, the dreadful +consciousness of his crime. He looked suspiciously about him, for the men were +conversing in groups, and he feared to be the subject of their talk. The dog +obeyed the significant beck of his finger, and they drew off, stealthily, +together. He passed near an engine where some men were seated, and they called +to him to share in their refreshment. He took some bread and meat; and as he +drank a draught of beer, heard the firemen, who were from London, talking about +the murder. “He has gone to Birmingham, they say,” said one: “but they’ll have +him yet, for the scouts are out, and by tomorrow night there’ll be a cry all +through the country.” +</p> + +<p> +He hurried off, and walked till he almost dropped upon the ground; then lay +down in a lane, and had a long, but broken and uneasy sleep. He wandered on +again, irresolute and undecided, and oppressed with the fear of another +solitary night. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, he took the desperate resolution to going back to London. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s somebody to speak to there, at all event,” he thought. “A good +hiding-place, too. They’ll never expect to nab me there, after this country +scent. Why can’t I lie by for a week or so, and, forcing blunt from Fagin, get +abroad to France? Damme, I’ll risk it.” +</p> + +<p> +He acted upon this impulse without delay, and choosing the least frequented +roads began his journey back, resolved to lie concealed within a short distance +of the metropolis, and, entering it at dusk by a circuitous route, to proceed +straight to that part of it which he had fixed on for his destination. +</p> + +<p> +The dog, though. If any description of him were out, it would not be forgotten +that the dog was missing, and had probably gone with him. This might lead to +his apprehension as he passed along the streets. He resolved to drown him, and +walked on, looking about for a pond: picking up a heavy stone and tying it to +his handkerchief as he went. +</p> + +<p> +The animal looked up into his master’s face while these preparations were +making; whether his instinct apprehended something of their purpose, or the +robber’s sidelong look at him was sterner than ordinary, he skulked a little +farther in the rear than usual, and cowered as he came more slowly along. When +his master halted at the brink of a pool, and looked round to call him, he +stopped outright. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you hear me call? Come here!” cried Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +The animal came up from the very force of habit; but as Sikes stooped to attach +the handkerchief to his throat, he uttered a low growl and started back. +</p> + +<p> +“Come back!” said the robber. +</p> + +<p> +The dog wagged his tail, but moved not. Sikes made a running noose and called +him again. +</p> + +<p> +The dog advanced, retreated, paused an instant, and scoured away at his hardest +speed. +</p> + +<p> +The man whistled again and again, and sat down and waited in the expectation +that he would return. But no dog appeared, and at length he resumed his +journey. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap49"></a> CHAPTER XLIX.<br/> +MONKS AND MR. BROWNLOW AT LENGTH MEET. THEIR CONVERSATION, AND THE INTELLIGENCE +THAT INTERRUPTS IT</h2> + +<p> +The twilight was beginning to close in, when Mr. Brownlow alighted from a +hackney-coach at his own door, and knocked softly. The door being opened, a +sturdy man got out of the coach and stationed himself on one side of the steps, +while another man, who had been seated on the box, dismounted too, and stood +upon the other side. At a sign from Mr. Brownlow, they helped out a third man, +and taking him between them, hurried him into the house. This man was Monks. +</p> + +<p> +They walked in the same manner up the stairs without speaking, and Mr. +Brownlow, preceding them, led the way into a back-room. At the door of this +apartment, Monks, who had ascended with evident reluctance, stopped. The two +men looked at the old gentleman as if for instructions. +</p> + +<p> +“He knows the alternative,” said Mr. Browlow. “If he hesitates or moves a +finger but as you bid him, drag him into the street, call for the aid of the +police, and impeach him as a felon in my name.” +</p> + +<p> +“How dare you say this of me?” asked Monks. +</p> + +<p> +“How dare you urge me to it, young man?” replied Mr. Brownlow, confronting him +with a steady look. “Are you mad enough to leave this house? Unhand him. There, +sir. You are free to go, and we to follow. But I warn you, by all I hold most +solemn and most sacred, that instant will have you apprehended on a charge of +fraud and robbery. I am resolute and immoveable. If you are determined to be +the same, your blood be upon your own head!” +</p> + +<p> +“By what authority am I kidnapped in the street, and brought here by these +dogs?” asked Monks, looking from one to the other of the men who stood beside +him. +</p> + +<p> +“By mine,” replied Mr. Brownlow. “Those persons are indemnified by me. If you +complain of being deprived of your liberty—you had power and opportunity to +retrieve it as you came along, but you deemed it advisable to remain quiet—I +say again, throw yourself for protection on the law. I will appeal to the law +too; but when you have gone too far to recede, do not sue to me for leniency, +when the power will have passed into other hands; and do not say I plunged you +down the gulf into which you rushed, yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +Monks was plainly disconcerted, and alarmed besides. He hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +“You will decide quickly,” said Mr. Brownlow, with perfect firmness and +composure. “If you wish me to prefer my charges publicly, and consign you to a +punishment the extent of which, although I can, with a shudder, foresee, I +cannot control, once more, I say, for you know the way. If not, and you appeal +to my forbearance, and the mercy of those you have deeply injured, seat +yourself, without a word, in that chair. It has waited for you two whole days.” +</p> + +<p> +Monks muttered some unintelligible words, but wavered still. +</p> + +<p> +“You will be prompt,” said Mr. Brownlow. “A word from me, and the alternative +has gone for ever.” +</p> + +<p> +Still the man hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +“I have not the inclination to parley,” said Mr. Brownlow, “and, as I advocate +the dearest interests of others, I have not the right.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is there—” demanded Monks with a faltering tongue,—“is there—no middle +course?” +</p> + +<p> +“None.” +</p> + +<p> +Monks looked at the old gentleman, with an anxious eye; but, reading in his +countenance nothing but severity and determination, walked into the room, and, +shrugging his shoulders, sat down. +</p> + +<p> +“Lock the door on the outside,” said Mr. Brownlow to the attendants, “and come +when I ring.” +</p> + +<p> +The men obeyed, and the two were left alone together. +</p> + +<p> +“This is pretty treatment, sir,” said Monks, throwing down his hat and cloak, +“from my father’s oldest friend.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is because I was your father’s oldest friend, young man,” returned Mr. +Brownlow; “it is because the hopes and wishes of young and happy years were +bound up with him, and that fair creature of his blood and kindred who rejoined +her God in youth, and left me here a solitary, lonely man: it is because he +knelt with me beside his only sisters’s death-bed when he was yet a boy, on the +morning that would—but Heaven willed otherwise—have made her my young wife; it +is because my seared heart clung to him, from that time forth, through all his +trials and errors, till he died; it is because old recollections and +associations filled my heart, and even the sight of you brings with it old +thoughts of him; it is because of all these things that I am moved to treat you +gently now—yes, Edward Leeford, even now—and blush for your unworthiness who +bear the name.” +</p> + +<p> +“What has the name to do with it?” asked the other, after contemplating, half +in silence, and half in dogged wonder, the agitation of his companion. “What is +the name to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” replied Mr. Brownlow, “nothing to you. But it was <i>hers</i>, and +even at this distance of time brings back to me, an old man, the glow and +thrill which I once felt, only to hear it repeated by a stranger. I am very +glad you have changed it—very—very.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is all mighty fine,” said Monks (to retain his assumed designation) after +a long silence, during which he had jerked himself in sullen defiance to and +fro, and Mr. Brownlow had sat, shading his face with his hand. “But what do you +want with me?” +</p> + +<p> +“You have a brother,” said Mr. Brownlow, rousing himself: “a brother, the +whisper of whose name in your ear when I came behind you in the street, was, in +itself, almost enough to make you accompany me hither, in wonder and alarm.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no brother,” replied Monks. “You know I was an only child. Why do you +talk to me of brothers? You know that, as well as I.” +</p> + +<p> +“Attend to what I do know, and you may not,” said Mr. Brownlow. “I shall +interest you by and by. I know that of the wretched marriage, into which family +pride, and the most sordid and narrowest of all ambition, forced your unhappy +father when a mere boy, you were the sole and most unnatural issue.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care for hard names,” interrupted Monks with a jeering laugh. “You +know the fact, and that’s enough for me.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I also know,” pursued the old gentleman, “the misery, the slow torture, +the protracted anguish of that ill-assorted union. I know how listlessly and +wearily each of that wretched pair dragged on their heavy chain through a world +that was poisoned to them both. I know how cold formalities were succeeded by +open taunts; how indifference gave place to dislike, dislike to hate, and hate +to loathing, until at last they wrenched the clanking bond asunder, and +retiring a wide space apart, carried each a galling fragment, of which nothing +but death could break the rivets, to hide it in new society beneath the gayest +looks they could assume. Your mother succeeded; she forgot it soon. But it +rusted and cankered at your father’s heart for years.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, they were separated,” said Monks, “and what of that?” +</p> + +<p> +“When they had been separated for some time,” returned Mr. Brownlow, “and your +mother, wholly given up to continental frivolities, had utterly forgotten the +young husband ten good years her junior, who, with prospects blighted, lingered +on at home, he fell among new friends. This circumstance, at least, you know +already.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not I,” said Monks, turning away his eyes and beating his foot upon the +ground, as a man who is determined to deny everything. “Not I.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your manner, no less than your actions, assures me that you have never +forgotten it, or ceased to think of it with bitterness,” returned Mr. Brownlow. +“I speak of fifteen years ago, when you were not more than eleven years old, +and your father but one-and-thirty—for he was, I repeat, a boy, when <i>his</i> +father ordered him to marry. Must I go back to events which cast a shade upon +the memory of your parent, or will you spare it, and disclose to me the truth?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have nothing to disclose,” rejoined Monks. “You must talk on if you will.” +</p> + +<p> +“These new friends, then,” said Mr. Brownlow, “were a naval officer retired +from active service, whose wife had died some half-a-year before, and left him +with two children—there had been more, but, of all their family, happily but +two survived. They were both daughters; one a beautiful creature of nineteen, +and the other a mere child of two or three years old.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s this to me?” asked Monks. +</p> + +<p> +“They resided,” said Mr. Brownlow, without seeming to hear the interruption, +“in a part of the country to which your father in his wandering had repaired, +and where he had taken up his abode. Acquaintance, intimacy, friendship, fast +followed on each other. Your father was gifted as few men are. He had his +sister’s soul and person. As the old officer knew him more and more, he grew to +love him. I would that it had ended there. His daughter did the same.” +</p> + +<p> +The old gentleman paused; Monks was biting his lips, with his eyes fixed upon +the floor; seeing this, he immediately resumed: +</p> + +<p> +“The end of a year found him contracted, solemnly contracted, to that daughter; +the object of the first, true, ardent, only passion of a guileless girl.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your tale is of the longest,” observed Monks, moving restlessly in his chair. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a true tale of grief and trial, and sorrow, young man,” returned Mr. +Brownlow, “and such tales usually are; if it were one of unmixed joy and +happiness, it would be very brief. At length one of those rich relations to +strengthen whose interest and importance your father had been sacrificed, as +others are often—it is no uncommon case—died, and to repair the misery he had +been instrumental in occasioning, left him his panacea for all griefs—Money. It +was necessary that he should immediately repair to Rome, whither this man had +sped for health, and where he had died, leaving his affairs in great confusion. +He went; was seized with mortal illness there; was followed, the moment the +intelligence reached Paris, by your mother who carried you with her; he died +the day after her arrival, leaving no will—<i>no will</i>—so that the whole +property fell to her and you.” +</p> + +<p> +At this part of the recital Monks held his breath, and listened with a face of +intense eagerness, though his eyes were not directed towards the speaker. As +Mr. Brownlow paused, he changed his position with the air of one who has +experienced a sudden relief, and wiped his hot face and hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Before he went abroad, and as he passed through London on his way,” said Mr. +Brownlow, slowly, and fixing his eyes upon the other’s face, “he came to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never heard of that,” interrupted Monks in a tone intended to appear +incredulous, but savouring more of disagreeable surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“He came to me, and left with me, among some other things, a picture—a portrait +painted by himself—a likeness of this poor girl—which he did not wish to leave +behind, and could not carry forward on his hasty journey. He was worn by +anxiety and remorse almost to a shadow; talked in a wild, distracted way, of +ruin and dishonour worked by himself; confided to me his intention to convert +his whole property, at any loss, into money, and, having settled on his wife +and you a portion of his recent acquisition, to fly the country—I guessed too +well he would not fly alone—and never see it more. Even from me, his old and +early friend, whose strong attachment had taken root in the earth that covered +one most dear to both—even from me he withheld any more particular confession, +promising to write and tell me all, and after that to see me once again, for +the last time on earth. Alas! <i>That</i> was the last time. I had no letter, +and I never saw him more.” +</p> + +<p> +“I went,” said Mr. Brownlow, after a short pause, “I went, when all was over, +to the scene of his—I will use the term the world would freely use, for worldly +harshness or favour are now alike to him—of his guilty love, resolved that if +my fears were realised that erring child should find one heart and home to +shelter and compassionate her. The family had left that part a week before; +they had called in such trifling debts as were outstanding, discharged them, +and left the place by night. Why, or whither, none can tell.” +</p> + +<p> +Monks drew his breath yet more freely, and looked round with a smile of +triumph. +</p> + +<p> +“When your brother,” said Mr. Brownlow, drawing nearer to the other’s chair, +“When your brother: a feeble, ragged, neglected child: was cast in my way by a +stronger hand than chance, and rescued by me from a life of vice and infamy—” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” cried Monks. +</p> + +<p> +“By me,” said Mr. Brownlow. “I told you I should interest you before long. I +say by me—I see that your cunning associate suppressed my name, although for +aught he knew, it would be quite strange to your ears. When he was rescued by +me, then, and lay recovering from sickness in my house, his strong resemblance +to this picture I have spoken of, struck me with astonishment. Even when I +first saw him in all his dirt and misery, there was a lingering expression in +his face that came upon me like a glimpse of some old friend flashing on one in +a vivid dream. I need not tell you he was snared away before I knew his +history—” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” asked Monks hastily. +</p> + +<p> +“Because you know it well.” +</p> + +<p> +“I!” +</p> + +<p> +“Denial to me is vain,” replied Mr. Brownlow. “I shall show you that I know +more than that.” +</p> + +<p> +“You—you—can’t prove anything against me,” stammered Monks. “I defy you to do +it!” +</p> + +<p> +“We shall see,” returned the old gentleman with a searching glance. “I lost the +boy, and no efforts of mine could recover him. Your mother being dead, I knew +that you alone could solve the mystery if anybody could, and as when I had last +heard of you you were on your own estate in the West Indies—whither, as you +well know, you retired upon your mother’s death to escape the consequences of +vicious courses here—I made the voyage. You had left it, months before, and +were supposed to be in London, but no one could tell where. I returned. Your +agents had no clue to your residence. You came and went, they said, as +strangely as you had ever done: sometimes for days together and sometimes not +for months: keeping to all appearance the same low haunts and mingling with the +same infamous herd who had been your associates when a fierce ungovernable boy. +I wearied them with new applications. I paced the streets by night and day, but +until two hours ago, all my efforts were fruitless, and I never saw you for an +instant.” +</p> + +<p> +“And now you do see me,” said Monks, rising boldly, “what then? Fraud and +robbery are high-sounding words—justified, you think, by a fancied resemblance +in some young imp to an idle daub of a dead man’s Brother! You don’t even know +that a child was born of this maudlin pair; you don’t even know that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>did not</i>,” replied Mr. Brownlow, rising too; “but within the last +fortnight I have learnt it all. You have a brother; you know it, and him. There +was a will, which your mother destroyed, leaving the secret and the gain to you +at her own death. It contained a reference to some child likely to be the +result of this sad connection, which child was born, and accidentally +encountered by you, when your suspicions were first awakened by his resemblance +to your father. You repaired to the place of his birth. There existed +proofs—proofs long suppressed—of his birth and parentage. Those proofs were +destroyed by you, and now, in your own words to your accomplice the Jew, +‘<i>the only proofs of the boy’s identity lie at the bottom of the river, and +the old hag that received them from the mother is rotting in her coffin</i>.’ +Unworthy son, coward, liar,—you, who hold your councils with thieves and +murderers in dark rooms at night,—you, whose plots and wiles have brought a +violent death upon the head of one worth millions such as you,—you, who from +your cradle were gall and bitterness to your own father’s heart, and in whom +all evil passions, vice, and profligacy, festered, till they found a vent in a +hideous disease which had made your face an index even to your mind—you, Edward +Leeford, do you still brave me!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, no!” returned the coward, overwhelmed by these accumulated charges. +</p> + +<p> +“Every word!” cried the gentleman, “every word that has passed between you and +this detested villain, is known to me. Shadows on the wall have caught your +whispers, and brought them to my ear; the sight of the persecuted child has +turned vice itself, and given it the courage and almost the attributes of +virtue. Murder has been done, to which you were morally if not really a party.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” interposed Monks. “I—I knew nothing of that; I was going to inquire +the truth of the story when you overtook me. I didn’t know the cause. I thought +it was a common quarrel.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was the partial disclosure of your secrets,” replied Mr. Brownlow. “Will +you disclose the whole?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I will.” +</p> + +<p> +“Set your hand to a statement of truth and facts, and repeat it before +witnesses?” +</p> + +<p> +“That I promise too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Remain quietly here, until such a document is drawn up, and proceed with me to +such a place as I may deem most advisable, for the purpose of attesting it?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you insist upon that, I’ll do that also,” replied Monks. +</p> + +<p> +“You must do more than that,” said Mr. Brownlow. “Make restitution to an +innocent and unoffending child, for such he is, although the offspring of a +guilty and most miserable love. You have not forgotten the provisions of the +will. Carry them into execution so far as your brother is concerned, and then +go where you please. In this world you need meet no more.” +</p> + +<p> +While Monks was pacing up and down, meditating with dark and evil looks on this +proposal and the possibilities of evading it: torn by his fears on the one hand +and his hatred on the other: the door was hurriedly unlocked, and a gentleman +(Mr. Losberne) entered the room in violent agitation. +</p> + +<p> +“The man will be taken,” he cried. “He will be taken tonight!” +</p> + +<p> +“The murderer?” asked Mr. Brownlow. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes,” replied the other. “His dog has been seen lurking about some old +haunt, and there seems little doubt that his master either is, or will be, +there, under cover of the darkness. Spies are hovering about in every +direction. I have spoken to the men who are charged with his capture, and they +tell me he cannot escape. A reward of a hundred pounds is proclaimed by +Government tonight.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will give fifty more,” said Mr. Brownlow, “and proclaim it with my own lips +upon the spot, if I can reach it. Where is Mr. Maylie?” +</p> + +<p> +“Harry? As soon as he had seen your friend here, safe in a coach with you, he +hurried off to where he heard this,” replied the doctor, “and mounting his +horse sallied forth to join the first party at some place in the outskirts +agreed upon between them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fagin,” said Mr. Brownlow; “what of him?” +</p> + +<p> +“When I last heard, he had not been taken, but he will be, or is, by this time. +They’re sure of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you made up your mind?” asked Mr. Brownlow, in a low voice, of Monks. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he replied. “You—you—will be secret with me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will. Remain here till I return. It is your only hope of safety.” +</p> + +<p> +They left the room, and the door was again locked. +</p> + +<p> +“What have you done?” asked the doctor in a whisper. +</p> + +<p> +“All that I could hope to do, and even more. Coupling the poor girl’s +intelligence with my previous knowledge, and the result of our good friend’s +inquiries on the spot, I left him no loophole of escape, and laid bare the +whole villainy which by these lights became plain as day. Write and appoint the +evening after tomorrow, at seven, for the meeting. We shall be down there, a +few hours before, but shall require rest: especially the young lady, who +<i>may</i> have greater need of firmness than either you or I can quite foresee +just now. But my blood boils to avenge this poor murdered creature. Which way +have they taken?” +</p> + +<p> +“Drive straight to the office and you will be in time,” replied Mr. Losberne. +“I will remain here.” +</p> + +<p> +The two gentlemen hastily separated; each in a fever of excitement wholly +uncontrollable. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap50"></a> CHAPTER L.<br/> +THE PURSUIT AND ESCAPE</h2> + +<p> +Near to that part of the Thames on which the church at Rotherhithe abuts, where +the buildings on the banks are dirtiest and the vessels on the river blackest +with the dust of colliers and the smoke of close-built low-roofed houses, there +exists the filthiest, the strangest, the most extraordinary of the many +localities that are hidden in London, wholly unknown, even by name, to the +great mass of its inhabitants. +</p> + +<p> +To reach this place, the visitor has to penetrate through a maze of close, +narrow, and muddy streets, thronged by the roughest and poorest of waterside +people, and devoted to the traffic they may be supposed to occasion. The +cheapest and least delicate provisions are heaped in the shops; the coarsest +and commonest articles of wearing apparel dangle at the salesman’s door, and +stream from the house-parapet and windows. Jostling with unemployed labourers +of the lowest class, ballast-heavers, coal-whippers, brazen women, ragged +children, and the raff and refuse of the river, he makes his way with +difficulty along, assailed by offensive sights and smells from the narrow +alleys which branch off on the right and left, and deafened by the clash of +ponderous waggons that bear great piles of merchandise from the stacks of +warehouses that rise from every corner. Arriving, at length, in streets remoter +and less-frequented than those through which he has passed, he walks beneath +tottering house-fronts projecting over the pavement, dismantled walls that seem +to totter as he passes, chimneys half crushed half hesitating to fall, windows +guarded by rusty iron bars that time and dirt have almost eaten away, every +imaginable sign of desolation and neglect. +</p> + +<p> +In such a neighbourhood, beyond Dockhead in the Borough of Southwark, stands +Jacob’s Island, surrounded by a muddy ditch, six or eight feet deep and fifteen +or twenty wide when the tide is in, once called Mill Pond, but known in the +days of this story as Folly Ditch. It is a creek or inlet from the Thames, and +can always be filled at high water by opening the sluices at the Lead Mills +from which it took its old name. At such times, a stranger, looking from one of +the wooden bridges thrown across it at Mill Lane, will see the inhabitants of +the houses on either side lowering from their back doors and windows, buckets, +pails, domestic utensils of all kinds, in which to haul the water up; and when +his eye is turned from these operations to the houses themselves, his utmost +astonishment will be excited by the scene before him. Crazy wooden galleries +common to the backs of half a dozen houses, with holes from which to look upon +the slime beneath; windows, broken and patched, with poles thrust out, on which +to dry the linen that is never there; rooms so small, so filthy, so confined, +that the air would seem too tainted even for the dirt and squalor which they +shelter; wooden chambers thrusting themselves out above the mud, and +threatening to fall into it—as some have done; dirt-besmeared walls and +decaying foundations; every repulsive lineament of poverty, every loathsome +indication of filth, rot, and garbage; all these ornament the banks of Folly +Ditch. +</p> + +<p> +In Jacob’s Island, the warehouses are roofless and empty; the walls are +crumbling down; the windows are windows no more; the doors are falling into the +streets; the chimneys are blackened, but they yield no smoke. Thirty or forty +years ago, before losses and chancery suits came upon it, it was a thriving +place; but now it is a desolate island indeed. The houses have no owners; they +are broken open, and entered upon by those who have the courage; and there they +live, and there they die. They must have powerful motives for a secret +residence, or be reduced to a destitute condition indeed, who seek a refuge in +Jacob’s Island. +</p> + +<p> +In an upper room of one of these houses—a detached house of fair size, ruinous +in other respects, but strongly defended at door and window: of which house the +back commanded the ditch in manner already described—there were assembled three +men, who, regarding each other every now and then with looks expressive of +perplexity and expectation, sat for some time in profound and gloomy silence. +One of these was Toby Crackit, another Mr. Chitling, and the third a robber of +fifty years, whose nose had been almost beaten in, in some old scuffle, and +whose face bore a frightful scar which might probably be traced to the same +occasion. This man was a returned transport, and his name was Kags. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish,” said Toby turning to Mr. Chitling, “that you had picked out some +other crib when the two old ones got too warm, and had not come here, my fine +feller.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why didn’t you, blunder-head!” said Kags. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I thought you’d have been a little more glad to see me than this,” +replied Mr. Chitling, with a melancholy air. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, look’e, young gentleman,” said Toby, “when a man keeps himself so very +ex-clusive as I have done, and by that means has a snug house over his head +with nobody a prying and smelling about it, it’s rather a startling thing to +have the honour of a wisit from a young gentleman (however respectable and +pleasant a person he may be to play cards with at conweniency) circumstanced as +you are.” +</p> + +<p> +“Especially, when the exclusive young man has got a friend stopping with him, +that’s arrived sooner than was expected from foreign parts, and is too modest +to want to be presented to the Judges on his return,” added Mr. Kags. +</p> + +<p> +There was a short silence, after which Toby Crackit, seeming to abandon as +hopeless any further effort to maintain his usual devil-may-care swagger, +turned to Chitling and said, +</p> + +<p> +“When was Fagin took then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Just at dinner-time—two o’clock this afternoon. Charley and I made our lucky +up the wash-us chimney, and Bolter got into the empty water-butt, head +downwards; but his legs were so precious long that they stuck out at the top, +and so they took him too.” +</p> + +<p> +“And Bet?” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor Bet! She went to see the Body, to speak to who it was,” replied Chitling, +his countenance falling more and more, “and went off mad, screaming and raving, +and beating her head against the boards; so they put a strait-weskut on her and +took her to the hospital—and there she is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wot’s come of young Bates?” demanded Kags. +</p> + +<p> +“He hung about, not to come over here afore dark, but he’ll be here soon,” +replied Chitling. “There’s nowhere else to go to now, for the people at the +Cripples are all in custody, and the bar of the ken—I went up there and see it +with my own eyes—is filled with traps.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is a smash,” observed Toby, biting his lips. “There’s more than one will +go with this.” +</p> + +<p> +“The sessions are on,” said Kags: “if they get the inquest over, and Bolter +turns King’s evidence: as of course he will, from what he’s said already: they +can prove Fagin an accessory before the fact, and get the trial on on Friday, +and he’ll swing in six days from this, by G—!” +</p> + +<p> +“You should have heard the people groan,” said Chitling; “the officers fought +like devils, or they’d have torn him away. He was down once, but they made a +ring round him, and fought their way along. You should have seen how he looked +about him, all muddy and bleeding, and clung to them as if they were his +dearest friends. I can see ’em now, not able to stand upright with the pressing +of the mob, and draggin him along amongst ’em; I can see the people jumping up, +one behind another, and snarling with their teeth and making at him; I can see +the blood upon his hair and beard, and hear the cries with which the women +worked themselves into the centre of the crowd at the street corner, and swore +they’d tear his heart out!” +</p> + +<p> +The horror-stricken witness of this scene pressed his hands upon his ears, and +with his eyes closed got up and paced violently to and fro, like one +distracted. +</p> + +<p> +While he was thus engaged, and the two men sat by in silence with their eyes +fixed upon the floor, a pattering noise was heard upon the stairs, and Sikes’s +dog bounded into the room. They ran to the window, downstairs, and into the +street. The dog had jumped in at an open window; he made no attempt to follow +them, nor was his master to be seen. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the meaning of this?” said Toby when they had returned. “He can’t be +coming here. I—I—hope not.” +</p> + +<p> +“If he was coming here, he’d have come with the dog,” said Kags, stooping down +to examine the animal, who lay panting on the floor. “Here! Give us some water +for him; he has run himself faint.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s drunk it all up, every drop,” said Chitling after watching the dog some +time in silence. “Covered with mud—lame—half blind—he must have come a long +way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where can he have come from!” exclaimed Toby. “He’s been to the other kens of +course, and finding them filled with strangers come on here, where he’s been +many a time and often. But where can he have come from first, and how comes he +here alone without the other!” +</p> + +<p> +“He”—(none of them called the murderer by his old name)—“He can’t have made +away with himself. What do you think?” said Chitling. +</p> + +<p> +Toby shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“If he had,” said Kags, “the dog ’ud want to lead us away to where he did it. +No. I think he’s got out of the country, and left the dog behind. He must have +given him the slip somehow, or he wouldn’t be so easy.” +</p> + +<p> +This solution, appearing the most probable one, was adopted as the right; the +dog, creeping under a chair, coiled himself up to sleep, without more notice +from anybody. +</p> + +<p> +It being now dark, the shutter was closed, and a candle lighted and placed upon +the table. The terrible events of the last two days had made a deep impression +on all three, increased by the danger and uncertainty of their own position. +They drew their chairs closer together, starting at every sound. They spoke +little, and that in whispers, and were as silent and awe-stricken as if the +remains of the murdered woman lay in the next room. +</p> + +<p> +They had sat thus, some time, when suddenly was heard a hurried knocking at the +door below. +</p> + +<p> +“Young Bates,” said Kags, looking angrily round, to check the fear he felt +himself. +</p> + +<p> +The knocking came again. No, it wasn’t he. He never knocked like that. +</p> + +<p> +Crackit went to the window, and shaking all over, drew in his head. There was +no need to tell them who it was; his pale face was enough. The dog too was on +the alert in an instant, and ran whining to the door. +</p> + +<p> +“We must let him in,” he said, taking up the candle. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t there any help for it?” asked the other man in a hoarse voice. +</p> + +<p> +“None. He <i>must</i> come in.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t leave us in the dark,” said Kags, taking down a candle from the +chimney-piece, and lighting it, with such a trembling hand that the knocking +was twice repeated before he had finished. +</p> + +<p> +Crackit went down to the door, and returned followed by a man with the lower +part of his face buried in a handkerchief, and another tied over his head under +his hat. He drew them slowly off. Blanched face, sunken eyes, hollow cheeks, +beard of three days’ growth, wasted flesh, short thick breath; it was the very +ghost of Sikes. +</p> + +<p> +He laid his hand upon a chair which stood in the middle of the room, but +shuddering as he was about to drop into it, and seeming to glance over his +shoulder, dragged it back close to the wall—as close as it would go—and ground +it against it—and sat down. +</p> + +<p> +Not a word had been exchanged. He looked from one to another in silence. If an +eye were furtively raised and met his, it was instantly averted. When his +hollow voice broke silence, they all three started. They seemed never to have +heard its tones before. +</p> + +<p> +“How came that dog here?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Alone. Three hours ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tonight’s paper says that Fagin’s took. Is it true, or a lie?” +</p> + +<p> +“True.” +</p> + +<p> +They were silent again. +</p> + +<p> +“Damn you all!” said Sikes, passing his hand across his forehead. “Have you +nothing to say to me?” +</p> + +<p> +There was an uneasy movement among them, but nobody spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“You that keep this house,” said Sikes, turning his face to Crackit, “do you +mean to sell me, or to let me lie here till this hunt is over?” +</p> + +<p> +“You may stop here, if you think it safe,” returned the person addressed, after +some hesitation. +</p> + +<p> +Sikes carried his eyes slowly up the wall behind him: rather trying to turn his +head than actually doing it: and said, “Is—it—the body—is it buried?” +</p> + +<p> +They shook their heads. +</p> + +<p> +“Why isn’t it!” he retorted with the same glance behind him. “Wot do they keep +such ugly things above the ground for?—Who’s that knocking?” +</p> + +<p> +Crackit intimated, by a motion of his hand as he left the room, that there was +nothing to fear; and directly came back with Charley Bates behind him. Sikes +sat opposite the door, so that the moment the boy entered the room he +encountered his figure. +</p> + +<p> +“Toby,” said the boy falling back, as Sikes turned his eyes towards him, “why +didn’t you tell me this, downstairs?” +</p> + +<p> +There had been something so tremendous in the shrinking off of the three, that +the wretched man was willing to propitiate even this lad. Accordingly he +nodded, and made as though he would shake hands with him. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me go into some other room,” said the boy, retreating still farther. +</p> + +<p> +“Charley!” said Sikes, stepping forward. “Don’t you—don’t you know me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t come nearer me,” answered the boy, still retreating, and looking, with +horror in his eyes, upon the murderer’s face. “You monster!” +</p> + +<p> +The man stopped half-way, and they looked at each other; but Sikes’s eyes sunk +gradually to the ground. +</p> + +<p> +“Witness you three,” cried the boy shaking his clenched fist, and becoming more +and more excited as he spoke. “Witness you three—I’m not afraid of him—if they +come here after him, I’ll give him up; I will. I tell you out at once. He may +kill me for it if he likes, or if he dares, but if I am here I’ll give him up. +I’d give him up if he was to be boiled alive. Murder! Help! If there’s the +pluck of a man among you three, you’ll help me. Murder! Help! Down with him!” +</p> + +<p> +Pouring out these cries, and accompanying them with violent gesticulation, the +boy actually threw himself, single-handed, upon the strong man, and in the +intensity of his energy and the suddenness of his surprise, brought him heavily +to the ground. +</p> + +<p> +The three spectators seemed quite stupefied. They offered no interference, and +the boy and man rolled on the ground together; the former, heedless of the +blows that showered upon him, wrenching his hands tighter and tighter in the +garments about the murderer’s breast, and never ceasing to call for help with +all his might. +</p> + +<p> +The contest, however, was too unequal to last long. Sikes had him down, and his +knee was on his throat, when Crackit pulled him back with a look of alarm, and +pointed to the window. There were lights gleaming below, voices in loud and +earnest conversation, the tramp of hurried footsteps—endless they seemed in +number—crossing the nearest wooden bridge. One man on horseback seemed to be +among the crowd; for there was the noise of hoofs rattling on the uneven +pavement. The gleam of lights increased; the footsteps came more thickly and +noisily on. Then, came a loud knocking at the door, and then a hoarse murmur +from such a multitude of angry voices as would have made the boldest quail. +</p> + +<p> +“Help!” shrieked the boy in a voice that rent the air. “He’s here! Break down +the door!” +</p> + +<p> +“In the King’s name,” cried the voices without; and the hoarse cry arose again, +but louder. +</p> + +<p> +“Break down the door!” screamed the boy. “I tell you they’ll never open it. Run +straight to the room where the light is. Break down the door!” +</p> + +<p> +Strokes, thick and heavy, rattled upon the door and lower window-shutters as he +ceased to speak, and a loud huzzah burst from the crowd; giving the listener, +for the first time, some adequate idea of its immense extent. +</p> + +<p> +“Open the door of some place where I can lock this screeching Hell-babe,” cried +Sikes fiercely; running to and fro, and dragging the boy, now, as easily as if +he were an empty sack. “That door. Quick!” He flung him in, bolted it, and +turned the key. “Is the downstairs door fast?” +</p> + +<p> +“Double-locked and chained,” replied Crackit, who, with the other two men, +still remained quite helpless and bewildered. +</p> + +<p> +“The panels—are they strong?” +</p> + +<p> +“Lined with sheet-iron.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the windows too?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, and the windows.” +</p> + +<p> +“Damn you!” cried the desperate ruffian, throwing up the sash and menacing the +crowd. “Do your worst! I’ll cheat you yet!” +</p> + +<p> +Of all the terrific yells that ever fell on mortal ears, none could exceed the +cry of the infuriated throng. Some shouted to those who were nearest to set the +house on fire; others roared to the officers to shoot him dead. Among them all, +none showed such fury as the man on horseback, who, throwing himself out of the +saddle, and bursting through the crowd as if he were parting water, cried, +beneath the window, in a voice that rose above all others, “Twenty guineas to +the man who brings a ladder!” +</p> + +<p> +The nearest voices took up the cry, and hundreds echoed it. Some called for +ladders, some for sledge-hammers; some ran with torches to and fro as if to +seek them, and still came back and roared again; some spent their breath in +impotent curses and execrations; some pressed forward with the ecstasy of +madmen, and thus impeded the progress of those below; some among the boldest +attempted to climb up by the water-spout and crevices in the wall; and all +waved to and fro, in the darkness beneath, like a field of corn moved by an +angry wind: and joined from time to time in one loud furious roar. +</p> + +<p> +“The tide,” cried the murderer, as he staggered back into the room, and shut +the faces out, “the tide was in as I came up. Give me a rope, a long rope. +They’re all in front. I may drop into the Folly Ditch, and clear off that way. +Give me a rope, or I shall do three more murders and kill myself.” +</p> + +<p> +The panic-stricken men pointed to where such articles were kept; the murderer, +hastily selecting the longest and strongest cord, hurried up to the house-top. +</p> + +<p> +All the windows in the rear of the house had been long ago bricked up, except +one small trap in the room where the boy was locked, and that was too small +even for the passage of his body. But, from this aperture, he had never ceased +to call on those without, to guard the back; and thus, when the murderer +emerged at last on the house-top by the door in the roof, a loud shout +proclaimed the fact to those in front, who immediately began to pour round, +pressing upon each other in an unbroken stream. +</p> + +<p> +He planted a board, which he had carried up with him for the purpose, so firmly +against the door that it must be matter of great difficulty to open it from the +inside; and creeping over the tiles, looked over the low parapet. +</p> + +<p> +The water was out, and the ditch a bed of mud. +</p> + +<p> +The crowd had been hushed during these few moments, watching his motions and +doubtful of his purpose, but the instant they perceived it and knew it was +defeated, they raised a cry of triumphant execration to which all their +previous shouting had been whispers. Again and again it rose. Those who were at +too great a distance to know its meaning, took up the sound; it echoed and +re-echoed; it seemed as though the whole city had poured its population out to +curse him. +</p> + +<p> +On pressed the people from the front—on, on, on, in a strong struggling current +of angry faces, with here and there a glaring torch to lighten them up, and +show them out in all their wrath and passion. The houses on the opposite side +of the ditch had been entered by the mob; sashes were thrown up, or torn bodily +out; there were tiers and tiers of faces in every window; cluster upon cluster +of people clinging to every house-top. Each little bridge (and there were three +in sight) bent beneath the weight of the crowd upon it. Still the current +poured on to find some nook or hole from which to vent their shouts, and only +for an instant see the wretch. +</p> + +<p> +“They have him now,” cried a man on the nearest bridge. “Hurrah!” +</p> + +<p> +The crowd grew light with uncovered heads; and again the shout uprose. +</p> + +<p> +“I will give fifty pounds,” cried an old gentleman from the same quarter, “to +the man who takes him alive. I will remain here, till he come to ask me for +it.” +</p> + +<p> +There was another roar. At this moment the word was passed among the crowd that +the door was forced at last, and that he who had first called for the ladder +had mounted into the room. The stream abruptly turned, as this intelligence ran +from mouth to mouth; and the people at the windows, seeing those upon the +bridges pouring back, quitted their stations, and running into the street, +joined the concourse that now thronged pell-mell to the spot they had left: +each man crushing and striving with his neighbour, and all panting with +impatience to get near the door, and look upon the criminal as the officers +brought him out. The cries and shrieks of those who were pressed almost to +suffocation, or trampled down and trodden under foot in the confusion, were +dreadful; the narrow ways were completely blocked up; and at this time, between +the rush of some to regain the space in front of the house, and the unavailing +struggles of others to extricate themselves from the mass, the immediate +attention was distracted from the murderer, although the universal eagerness +for his capture was, if possible, increased. +</p> + +<p> +The man had shrunk down, thoroughly quelled by the ferocity of the crowd, and +the impossibility of escape; but seeing this sudden change with no less +rapidity than it had occurred, he sprang upon his feet, determined to make one +last effort for his life by dropping into the ditch, and, at the risk of being +stifled, endeavouring to creep away in the darkness and confusion. +</p> + +<p> +Roused into new strength and energy, and stimulated by the noise within the +house which announced that an entrance had really been effected, he set his +foot against the stack of chimneys, fastened one end of the rope tightly and +firmly round it, and with the other made a strong running noose by the aid of +his hands and teeth almost in a second. He could let himself down by the cord +to within a less distance of the ground than his own height, and had his knife +ready in his hand to cut it then and drop. +</p> + +<p> +At the very instant when he brought the loop over his head previous to slipping +it beneath his arm-pits, and when the old gentleman before-mentioned (who had +clung so tight to the railing of the bridge as to resist the force of the +crowd, and retain his position) earnestly warned those about him that the man +was about to lower himself down—at that very instant the murderer, looking +behind him on the roof, threw his arms above his head, and uttered a yell of +terror. +</p> + +<p> +“The eyes again!” he cried in an unearthly screech. +</p> + +<p> +Staggering as if struck by lightning, he lost his balance and tumbled over the +parapet. The noose was on his neck. It ran up with his weight, tight as a +bow-string, and swift as the arrow it speeds. He fell for five-and-thirty feet. +There was a sudden jerk, a terrific convulsion of the limbs; and there he hung, +with the open knife clenched in his stiffening hand. +</p> + +<p> +The old chimney quivered with the shock, but stood it bravely. The murderer +swung lifeless against the wall; and the boy, thrusting aside the dangling body +which obscured his view, called to the people to come and take him out, for +God’s sake. +</p> + +<p> +A dog, which had lain concealed till now, ran backwards and forwards on the +parapet with a dismal howl, and collecting himself for a spring, jumped for the +dead man’s shoulders. Missing his aim, he fell into the ditch, turning +completely over as he went; and striking his head against a stone, dashed out +his brains. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap51"></a> CHAPTER LI.<br/> +AFFORDING AN EXPLANATION OF MORE MYSTERIES THAN ONE, AND COMPREHENDING A +PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE WITH NO WORD OF SETTLEMENT OR PIN-MONEY</h2> + +<p> +The events narrated in the last chapter were yet but two days old, when Oliver +found himself, at three o’clock in the afternoon, in a travelling-carriage +rolling fast towards his native town. Mrs. Maylie, and Rose, and Mrs. Bedwin, +and the good doctor were with him: and Mr. Brownlow followed in a post-chaise, +accompanied by one other person whose name had not been mentioned. +</p> + +<p> +They had not talked much upon the way; for Oliver was in a flutter of agitation +and uncertainty which deprived him of the power of collecting his thoughts, and +almost of speech, and appeared to have scarcely less effect on his companions, +who shared it, in at least an equal degree. He and the two ladies had been very +carefully made acquainted by Mr. Brownlow with the nature of the admissions +which had been forced from Monks; and although they knew that the object of +their present journey was to complete the work which had been so well begun, +still the whole matter was enveloped in enough of doubt and mystery to leave +them in endurance of the most intense suspense. +</p> + +<p> +The same kind friend had, with Mr. Losberne’s assistance, cautiously stopped +all channels of communication through which they could receive intelligence of +the dreadful occurrences that had so recently taken place. “It was quite true,” he +said, “that they must know them before long, but it might be at a better time +than the present, and it could not be at a worse.” So, they travelled on in +silence: each busied with reflections on the object which had brought them +together: and no one disposed to give utterance to the thoughts which crowded +upon all. +</p> + +<p> +But if Oliver, under these influences, had remained silent while they journeyed +towards his birth-place by a road he had never seen, how the whole current of +his recollections ran back to old times, and what a crowd of emotions were +wakened up in his breast, when they turned into that which he had traversed on +foot: a poor houseless, wandering boy, without a friend to help him, or a roof +to shelter his head. +</p> + +<p> +“See there, there!” cried Oliver, eagerly clasping the hand of Rose, and +pointing out at the carriage window; “that’s the stile I came over; there are +the hedges I crept behind, for fear any one should overtake me and force me +back! Yonder is the path across the fields, leading to the old house where I +was a little child! Oh Dick, Dick, my dear old friend, if I could only see you +now!” +</p> + +<p> +“You will see him soon,” replied Rose, gently taking his folded hands between +her own. “You shall tell him how happy you are, and how rich you have grown, +and that in all your happiness you have none so great as the coming back to +make him happy too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes,” said Oliver, “and we’ll—we’ll take him away from here, and have him +clothed and taught, and send him to some quiet country place where he may grow +strong and well,—shall we?” +</p> + +<p> +Rose nodded “yes,” for the boy was smiling through such happy tears that she +could not speak. +</p> + +<p> +“You will be kind and good to him, for you are to every one,” said Oliver. “It +will make you cry, I know, to hear what he can tell; but never mind, never +mind, it will be all over, and you will smile again—I know that too—to think +how changed he is; you did the same with me. He said ‘God bless you’ to me when +I ran away,” cried the boy with a burst of affectionate emotion; “and I will +say ‘God bless you’ now, and show him how I love him for it!” +</p> + +<p> +As they approached the town, and at length drove through its narrow streets, it +became matter of no small difficulty to restrain the boy within reasonable +bounds. There was Sowerberry’s the undertaker’s just as it used to be, only +smaller and less imposing in appearance than he remembered it—there were all +the well-known shops and houses, with almost every one of which he had some +slight incident connected—there was Gamfield’s cart, the very cart he used to +have, standing at the old public-house door—there was the workhouse, the dreary +prison of his youthful days, with its dismal windows frowning on the +street—there was the same lean porter standing at the gate, at sight of whom +Oliver involuntarily shrunk back, and then laughed at himself for being so +foolish, then cried, then laughed again—there were scores of faces at the doors +and windows that he knew quite well—there was nearly everything as if he had +left it but yesterday, and all his recent life had been but a happy dream. +</p> + +<p> +But it was pure, earnest, joyful reality. They drove straight to the door of +the chief hotel (which Oliver used to stare up at, with awe, and think a mighty +palace, but which had somehow fallen off in grandeur and size); and here was +Mr. Grimwig all ready to receive them, kissing the young lady, and the old one +too, when they got out of the coach, as if he were the grandfather of the whole +party, all smiles and kindness, and not offering to eat his head—no, not once; +not even when he contradicted a very old postboy about the nearest road to +London, and maintained he knew it best, though he had only come that way once, +and that time fast asleep. There was dinner prepared, and there were bedrooms +ready, and everything was arranged as if by magic. +</p> + +<p> +Notwithstanding all this, when the hurry of the first half-hour was over, the +same silence and constraint prevailed that had marked their journey down. Mr. +Brownlow did not join them at dinner, but remained in a separate room. The two +other gentlemen hurried in and out with anxious faces, and, during the short +intervals when they were present, conversed apart. Once, Mrs. Maylie was called +away, and after being absent for nearly an hour, returned with eyes swollen +with weeping. All these things made Rose and Oliver, who were not in any new +secrets, nervous and uncomfortable. They sat wondering, in silence; or, if they +exchanged a few words, spoke in whispers, as if they were afraid to hear the +sound of their own voices. +</p> + +<p> +At length, when nine o’clock had come, and they began to think they were to +hear no more that night, Mr. Losberne and Mr. Grimwig entered the room, +followed by Mr. Brownlow and a man whom Oliver almost shrieked with surprise to +see; for they told him it was his brother, and it was the same man he had met +at the market-town, and seen looking in with Fagin at the window of his little +room. Monks cast a look of hate, which, even then, he could not dissemble, at +the astonished boy, and sat down near the door. Mr. Brownlow, who had papers in +his hand, walked to a table near which Rose and Oliver were seated. +</p> + +<p> +“This is a painful task,” said he, “but these declarations, which have been +signed in London before many gentlemen, must be in substance repeated here. I +would have spared you the degradation, but we must hear them from your own lips +before we part, and you know why.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” said the person addressed, turning away his face. “Quick. I have +almost done enough, I think. Don’t keep me here.” +</p> + +<p> +“This child,” said Mr. Brownlow, drawing Oliver to him, and laying his hand +upon his head, “is your half-brother; the illegitimate son of your father, my +dear friend Edwin Leeford, by poor young Agnes Fleming, who died in giving him +birth.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Monks, scowling at the trembling boy: the beating of whose heart he +might have heard. “That is the bastard child.” +</p> + +<p> +“The term you use,” said Mr. Brownlow, sternly, “is a reproach to those long +since passed beyond the feeble censure of the world. It reflects disgrace on no +one living, except you who use it. Let that pass. He was born in this town.” +</p> + +<p> +“In the workhouse of this town,” was the sullen reply. “You have the story +there.” He pointed impatiently to the papers as he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“I must have it here, too,” said Mr. Brownlow, looking round upon the +listeners. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen then! You!” returned Monks. “His father being taken ill at Rome, was +joined by his wife, my mother, from whom he had been long separated, who went +from Paris and took me with her—to look after his property, for what I know, +for she had no great affection for him, nor he for her. He knew nothing of us, +for his senses were gone, and he slumbered on till next day, when he died. +Among the papers in his desk, were two, dated on the night his illness first +came on, directed to yourself”; he addressed himself to Mr. Brownlow; “and +enclosed in a few short lines to you, with an intimation on the cover of the +package that it was not to be forwarded till after he was dead. One of these +papers was a letter to this girl Agnes; the other a will.” +</p> + +<p> +“What of the letter?” asked Mr. Brownlow. +</p> + +<p> +“The letter?—A sheet of paper crossed and crossed again, with a penitent +confession, and prayers to God to help her. He had palmed a tale on the girl +that some secret mystery—to be explained one day—prevented his marrying her +just then; and so she had gone on, trusting patiently to him, until she trusted +too far, and lost what none could ever give her back. She was, at that time, +within a few months of her confinement. He told her all he had meant to do, to +hide her shame, if he had lived, and prayed her, if he died, not to curse his +memory, or think the consequences of their sin would be visited on her or their +young child; for all the guilt was his. He reminded her of the day he had given +her the little locket and the ring with her christian name engraved upon it, +and a blank left for that which he hoped one day to have bestowed upon +her—prayed her yet to keep it, and wear it next her heart, as she had done +before—and then ran on, wildly, in the same words, over and over again, as if +he had gone distracted. I believe he had.” +</p> + +<p> +“The will,” said Mr. Brownlow, as Oliver’s tears fell fast. +</p> + +<p> +Monks was silent. +</p> + +<p> +“The will,” said Mr. Brownlow, speaking for him, “was in the same spirit as the +letter. He talked of miseries which his wife had brought upon him; of the +rebellious disposition, vice, malice, and premature bad passions of you his +only son, who had been trained to hate him; and left you, and your mother, each +an annuity of eight hundred pounds. The bulk of his property he divided into +two equal portions—one for Agnes Fleming, and the other for their child, if it +should be born alive, and ever come of age. If it were a girl, it was to +inherit the money unconditionally; but if a boy, only on the stipulation that +in his minority he should never have stained his name with any public act of +dishonour, meanness, cowardice, or wrong. He did this, he said, to mark his +confidence in the mother, and his conviction—only strengthened by approaching +death—that the child would share her gentle heart, and noble nature. If he were +disappointed in this expectation, then the money was to come to you: for then, +and not till then, when both children were equal, would he recognise your prior +claim upon his purse, who had none upon his heart, but had, from an infant, +repulsed him with coldness and aversion.” +</p> + +<p> +“My mother,” said Monks, in a louder tone, “did what a woman should have done. +She burnt this will. The letter never reached its destination; but that, and +other proofs, she kept, in case they ever tried to lie away the blot. The +girl’s father had the truth from her with every aggravation that her violent +hate—I love her for it now—could add. Goaded by shame and dishonour he fled +with his children into a remote corner of Wales, changing his very name that +his friends might never know of his retreat; and here, no great while +afterwards, he was found dead in his bed. The girl had left her home, in +secret, some weeks before; he had searched for her, on foot, in every town and +village near; it was on the night when he returned home, assured that she had +destroyed herself, to hide her shame and his, that his old heart broke.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a short silence here, until Mr. Brownlow took up the thread of the +narrative. +</p> + +<p> +“Years after this,” he said, “this man’s—Edward Leeford’s—mother came to me. He +had left her, when only eighteen; robbed her of jewels and money; gambled, +squandered, forged, and fled to London: where for two years he had associated +with the lowest outcasts. She was sinking under a painful and incurable +disease, and wished to recover him before she died. Inquiries were set on foot, +and strict searches made. They were unavailing for a long time, but ultimately +successful; and he went back with her to France.” +</p> + +<p> +“There she died,” said Monks, “after a lingering illness; and, on her +death-bed, she bequeathed these secrets to me, together with her unquenchable +and deadly hatred of all whom they involved—though she need not have left me +that, for I had inherited it long before. She would not believe that the girl +had destroyed herself, and the child too, but was filled with the impression +that a male child had been born, and was alive. I swore to her, if ever it +crossed my path, to hunt it down; never to let it rest; to pursue it with the +bitterest and most unrelenting animosity; to vent upon it the hatred that I +deeply felt, and to spit upon the empty vaunt of that insulting will by +dragging it, if I could, to the very gallows-foot. She was right. He came in my +way at last. I began well; and, but for babbling drabs, I would have finished +as I began!” +</p> + +<p> +As the villain folded his arms tight together, and muttered curses on himself +in the impotence of baffled malice, Mr. Brownlow turned to the terrified group +beside him, and explained that the Jew, who had been his old accomplice and +confidant, had a large reward for keeping Oliver ensnared: of which some part +was to be given up, in the event of his being rescued: and that a dispute on +this head had led to their visit to the country house for the purpose of +identifying him. +</p> + +<p> +“The locket and ring?” said Mr. Brownlow, turning to Monks. +</p> + +<p> +“I bought them from the man and woman I told you of, who stole them from the +nurse, who stole them from the corpse,” answered Monks without raising his +eyes. “You know what became of them.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brownlow merely nodded to Mr. Grimwig, who disappearing with great +alacrity, shortly returned, pushing in Mrs. Bumble, and dragging her unwilling +consort after him. +</p> + +<p> +“Do my hi’s deceive me!” cried Mr. Bumble, with ill-feigned enthusiasm, “or is +that little Oliver? Oh O-li-ver, if you know’d how I’ve been a-grieving for +you—” +</p> + +<p> +“Hold your tongue, fool,” murmured Mrs. Bumble. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t natur, natur, Mrs. Bumble?” remonstrated the workhouse master. “Can’t I +be supposed to feel—<i>I</i> as brought him up porochially—when I see him +a-setting here among ladies and gentlemen of the very affablest description! I +always loved that boy as if he’d been my—my—my own grandfather,” said Mr. +Bumble, halting for an appropriate comparison. “Master Oliver, my dear, you +remember the blessed gentleman in the white waistcoat? Ah! he went to heaven +last week, in a oak coffin with plated handles, Oliver.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, sir,” said Mr. Grimwig, tartly; “suppress your feelings.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will do my endeavours, sir,” replied Mr. Bumble. “How do you do, sir? I hope +you are very well.” +</p> + +<p> +This salutation was addressed to Mr. Brownlow, who had stepped up to within a +short distance of the respectable couple. He inquired, as he pointed to Monks, +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know that person?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied Mrs. Bumble flatly. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps <i>you</i> don’t?” said Mr. Brownlow, addressing her spouse. +</p> + +<p> +“I never saw him in all my life,” said Mr. Bumble. +</p> + +<p> +“Nor sold him anything, perhaps?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied Mrs. Bumble. +</p> + +<p> +“You never had, perhaps, a certain gold locket and ring?” said Mr. Brownlow. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not,” replied the matron. “Why are we brought here to answer to such +nonsense as this?” +</p> + +<p> +Again Mr. Brownlow nodded to Mr. Grimwig; and again that gentleman limped away +with extraordinary readiness. But not again did he return with a stout man and +wife; for this time, he led in two palsied women, who shook and tottered as +they walked. +</p> + +<p> +“You shut the door the night old Sally died,” said the foremost one, raising +her shrivelled hand, “but you couldn’t shut out the sound, nor stop the +chinks.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” said the other, looking round her and wagging her toothless jaws. +“No, no, no.” +</p> + +<p> +“We heard her try to tell you what she’d done, and saw you take a paper from +her hand, and watched you too, next day, to the pawnbroker’s shop,” said the +first. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” added the second, “and it was a ‘locket and gold ring.’ We found out +that, and saw it given you. We were by. Oh! we were by.” +</p> + +<p> +“And we know more than that,” resumed the first, “for she told us often, long +ago, that the young mother had told her that, feeling she should never get over +it, she was on her way, at the time that she was taken ill, to die near the +grave of the father of the child.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would you like to see the pawnbroker himself?” asked Mr. Grimwig with a motion +towards the door. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied the woman; “if he”—she pointed to Monks—“has been coward enough +to confess, as I see he has, and you have sounded all these hags till you have +found the right ones, I have nothing more to say. I <i>did</i> sell them, and +they’re where you’ll never get them. What then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” replied Mr. Brownlow, “except that it remains for us to take care +that neither of you is employed in a situation of trust again. You may leave +the room.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope,” said Mr. Bumble, looking about him with great ruefulness, as Mr. +Grimwig disappeared with the two old women: “I hope that this unfortunate +little circumstance will not deprive me of my porochial office?” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed it will,” replied Mr. Brownlow. “You may make up your mind to that, and +think yourself well off besides.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was all Mrs. Bumble. She <i>would</i> do it,” urged Mr. Bumble; first +looking round to ascertain that his partner had left the room. +</p> + +<p> +“That is no excuse,” replied Mr. Brownlow. “You were present on the occasion of +the destruction of these trinkets, and indeed are the more guilty of the two, +in the eye of the law; for the law supposes that your wife acts under your +direction.” +</p> + +<p> +“If the law supposes that,” said Mr. Bumble, squeezing his hat emphatically in +both hands, “the law is a ass—a idiot. If that’s the eye of the law, the law is +a bachelor; and the worst I wish the law is, that his eye may be opened by +experience—by experience.” +</p> + +<p> +Laying great stress on the repetition of these two words, Mr. Bumble fixed his +hat on very tight, and putting his hands in his pockets, followed his helpmate +downstairs. +</p> + +<p> +“Young lady,” said Mr. Brownlow, turning to Rose, “give me your hand. Do not +tremble. You need not fear to hear the few remaining words we have to say.” +</p> + +<p> +“If they have—I do not know how they can, but if they have—any reference to +me,” said Rose, “pray let me hear them at some other time. I have not strength +or spirits now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” returned the old gentleman, drawing her arm through his; “you have more +fortitude than this, I am sure. Do you know this young lady, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied Monks. +</p> + +<p> +“I never saw you before,” said Rose faintly. +</p> + +<p> +“I have seen you often,” returned Monks. +</p> + +<p> +“The father of the unhappy Agnes had <i>two</i> daughters,” said Mr. Brownlow. +“What was the fate of the other—the child?” +</p> + +<p> +“The child,” replied Monks, “when her father died in a strange place, in a +strange name, without a letter, book, or scrap of paper that yielded the +faintest clue by which his friends or relatives could be traced—the child was +taken by some wretched cottagers, who reared it as their own.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” said Mr. Brownlow, signing to Mrs. Maylie to approach. “Go on!” +</p> + +<p> +“You couldn’t find the spot to which these people had repaired,” said Monks, +“but where friendship fails, hatred will often force a way. My mother found it, +after a year of cunning search—ay, and found the child.” +</p> + +<p> +“She took it, did she?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. The people were poor and began to sicken—at least the man did—of their +fine humanity; so she left it with them, giving them a small present of money +which would not last long, and promised more, which she never meant to send. +She didn’t quite rely, however, on their discontent and poverty for the child’s +unhappiness, but told the history of the sister’s shame, with such alterations +as suited her; bade them take good heed of the child, for she came of bad +blood; and told them she was illegitimate, and sure to go wrong at one time or +other. The circumstances countenanced all this; the people believed it; and +there the child dragged on an existence, miserable enough even to satisfy us, +until a widow lady, residing, then, at Chester, saw the girl by chance, pitied +her, and took her home. There was some cursed spell, I think, against us; for +in spite of all our efforts she remained there and was happy. I lost sight of +her, two or three years ago, and saw her no more until a few months back.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you see her now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Leaning on your arm.” +</p> + +<p> +“But not the less my niece,” cried Mrs. Maylie, folding the fainting girl in +her arms; “not the less my dearest child. I would not lose her now, for all the +treasures of the world. My sweet companion, my own dear girl!” +</p> + +<p> +“The only friend I ever had,” cried Rose, clinging to her. “The kindest, best +of friends. My heart will burst. I cannot bear all this.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have borne more, and have been, through all, the best and gentlest +creature that ever shed happiness on every one she knew,” said Mrs. Maylie, +embracing her tenderly. “Come, come, my love, remember who this is who waits to +clasp you in his arms, poor child! See here—look, look, my dear!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not aunt,” cried Oliver, throwing his arms about her neck; “I’ll never call +her aunt—sister, my own dear sister, that something taught my heart to love so +dearly from the first! Rose, dear, darling Rose!” +</p> + +<p> +Let the tears which fell, and the broken words which were exchanged in the long +close embrace between the orphans, be sacred. A father, sister, and mother, +were gained, and lost, in that one moment. Joy and grief were mingled in the +cup; but there were no bitter tears: for even grief itself arose so softened, +and clothed in such sweet and tender recollections, that it became a solemn +pleasure, and lost all character of pain. +</p> + +<p> +They were a long, long time alone. A soft tap at the door, at length announced +that some one was without. Oliver opened it, glided away, and gave place to +Harry Maylie. +</p> + +<p> +“I know it all,” he said, taking a seat beside the lovely girl. “Dear Rose, I +know it all.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not here by accident,” he added after a lengthened silence; “nor have I +heard all this tonight, for I knew it yesterday—only yesterday. Do you guess +that I have come to remind you of a promise?” +</p> + +<p> +“Stay,” said Rose. “You <i>do</i> know all.” +</p> + +<p> +“All. You gave me leave, at any time within a year, to renew the subject of our +last discourse.” +</p> + +<p> +“I did.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not to press you to alter your determination,” pursued the young man, “but to +hear you repeat it, if you would. I was to lay whatever of station or fortune I +might possess at your feet, and if you still adhered to your former +determination, I pledged myself, by no word or act, to seek to change it.” +</p> + +<p> +“The same reasons which influenced me then, will influence me now,” said Rose +firmly. “If I ever owed a strict and rigid duty to her, whose goodness saved me +from a life of indigence and suffering, when should I ever feel it, as I should +tonight? It is a struggle,” said Rose, “but one I am proud to make; it is a +pang, but one my heart shall bear.” +</p> + +<p> +“The disclosure of tonight,”—Harry began. +</p> + +<p> +“The disclosure of tonight,” replied Rose softly, “leaves me in the same +position, with reference to you, as that in which I stood before.” +</p> + +<p> +“You harden your heart against me, Rose,” urged her lover. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh Harry, Harry,” said the young lady, bursting into tears; “I wish I could, +and spare myself this pain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why inflict it on yourself?” said Harry, taking her hand. “Think, dear +Rose, think what you have heard tonight.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what have I heard! What have I heard!” cried Rose. “That a sense of his +deep disgrace so worked upon my own father that he shunned all—there, we have +said enough, Harry, we have said enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not yet, not yet,” said the young man, detaining her as she rose. “My hopes, +my wishes, prospects, feeling: every thought in life except my love for you: +have undergone a change. I offer you, now, no distinction among a bustling +crowd; no mingling with a world of malice and detraction, where the blood is +called into honest cheeks by aught but real disgrace and shame; but a home—a +heart and home—yes, dearest Rose, and those, and those alone, are all I have to +offer.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean!” she faltered. +</p> + +<p> +“I mean but this—that when I left you last, I left you with a firm +determination to level all fancied barriers between yourself and me; resolved +that if my world could not be yours, I would make yours mine; that no pride of +birth should curl the lip at you, for I would turn from it. This I have done. +Those who have shrunk from me because of this, have shrunk from you, and proved +you so far right. Such power and patronage: such relatives of influence and +rank: as smiled upon me then, look coldly now; but there are smiling fields and +waving trees in England’s richest county; and by one village church—mine, Rose, +my own!—there stands a rustic dwelling which you can make me prouder of, than +all the hopes I have renounced, measured a thousandfold. This is my rank and +station now, and here I lay it down!” +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +“It’s a trying thing waiting supper for lovers,” said Mr. Grimwig, waking up, +and pulling his pocket-handkerchief from over his head. +</p> + +<p> +Truth to tell, the supper had been waiting a most unreasonable time. Neither +Mrs. Maylie, nor Harry, nor Rose (who all came in together), could offer a word +in extenuation. +</p> + +<p> +“I had serious thoughts of eating my head tonight,” said Mr. Grimwig, “for I +began to think I should get nothing else. I’ll take the liberty, if you’ll +allow me, of saluting the bride that is to be.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Grimwig lost no time in carrying this notice into effect upon the blushing +girl; and the example, being contagious, was followed both by the doctor and +Mr. Brownlow: some people affirm that Harry Maylie had been observed to set it, +originally, in a dark room adjoining; but the best authorities consider this +downright scandal: he being young and a clergyman. +</p> + +<p> +“Oliver, my child,” said Mrs. Maylie, “where have you been, and why do you look +so sad? There are tears stealing down your face at this moment. What is the +matter?” +</p> + +<p> +It is a world of disappointment: often to the hopes we most cherish, and hopes +that do our nature the greatest honour. +</p> + +<p> +Poor Dick was dead! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap52"></a> CHAPTER LII.<br/> +FAGIN’S LAST NIGHT ALIVE</h2> + +<p> +The court was paved, from floor to roof, with human faces. Inquisitive and +eager eyes peered from every inch of space. From the rail before the dock, away +into the sharpest angle of the smallest corner in the galleries, all looks were +fixed upon one man—Fagin. Before him and behind: above, below, on the right and +on the left: he seemed to stand surrounded by a firmament, all bright with +gleaming eyes. +</p> + +<p> +He stood there, in all this glare of living light, with one hand resting on the +wooden slab before him, the other held to his ear, and his head thrust forward +to enable him to catch with greater distinctness every word that fell from the +presiding judge, who was delivering his charge to the jury. At times, he turned +his eyes sharply upon them to observe the effect of the slightest featherweight +in his favour; and when the points against him were stated with terrible +distinctness, looked towards his counsel, in mute appeal that he would, even +then, urge something in his behalf. Beyond these manifestations of anxiety, he +stirred not hand or foot. He had scarcely moved since the trial began; and now +that the judge ceased to speak, he still remained in the same strained attitude +of close attention, with his gaze bent on him, as though he listened still. +</p> + +<p> +A slight bustle in the court, recalled him to himself. Looking round, he saw +that the jurymen had turned together, to consider their verdict. As his eyes +wandered to the gallery, he could see the people rising above each other to see +his face: some hastily applying their glasses to their eyes: and others +whispering their neighbours with looks expressive of abhorrence. A few there +were, who seemed unmindful of him, and looked only to the jury, in impatient +wonder how they could delay. But in no one face—not even among the women, of +whom there were many there—could he read the faintest sympathy with himself, or +any feeling but one of all-absorbing interest that he should be condemned. +</p> + +<p> +As he saw all this in one bewildered glance, the deathlike stillness came +again, and looking back he saw that the jurymen had turned towards the judge. +Hush! +</p> + +<p> +They only sought permission to retire. +</p> + +<p> +He looked, wistfully, into their faces, one by one when they passed out, as +though to see which way the greater number leant; but that was fruitless. The +jailer touched him on the shoulder. He followed mechanically to the end of the +dock, and sat down on a chair. The man pointed it out, or he would not have +seen it. +</p> + +<p> +He looked up into the gallery again. Some of the people were eating, and some +fanning themselves with handkerchiefs; for the crowded place was very hot. +There was one young man sketching his face in a little note-book. He wondered +whether it was like, and looked on when the artist broke his pencil-point, and +made another with his knife, as any idle spectator might have done. +</p> + +<p> +In the same way, when he turned his eyes towards the judge, his mind began to +busy itself with the fashion of his dress, and what it cost, and how he put it +on. There was an old fat gentleman on the bench, too, who had gone out, some +half an hour before, and now come back. He wondered within himself whether this +man had been to get his dinner, what he had had, and where he had had it; and +pursued this train of careless thought until some new object caught his eye and +roused another. +</p> + +<p> +Not that, all this time, his mind was, for an instant, free from one oppressive +overwhelming sense of the grave that opened at his feet; it was ever present to +him, but in a vague and general way, and he could not fix his thoughts upon it. +Thus, even while he trembled, and turned burning hot at the idea of speedy +death, he fell to counting the iron spikes before him, and wondering how the +head of one had been broken off, and whether they would mend it, or leave it as +it was. Then, he thought of all the horrors of the gallows and the scaffold—and +stopped to watch a man sprinkling the floor to cool it—and then went on to +think again. +</p> + +<p> +At length there was a cry of silence, and a breathless look from all towards +the door. The jury returned, and passed him close. He could glean nothing from +their faces; they might as well have been of stone. Perfect stillness +ensued—not a rustle—not a breath—Guilty. +</p> + +<p> +The building rang with a tremendous shout, and another, and another, and then +it echoed loud groans, that gathered strength as they swelled out, like angry +thunder. It was a peal of joy from the populace outside, greeting the news that +he would die on Monday. +</p> + +<p> +The noise subsided, and he was asked if he had anything to say why sentence of +death should not be passed upon him. He had resumed his listening attitude, and +looked intently at his questioner while the demand was made; but it was twice +repeated before he seemed to hear it, and then he only muttered that he was an +old man—an old man—and so, dropping into a whisper, was silent again. +</p> + +<p> +The judge assumed the black cap, and the prisoner still stood with the same air +and gesture. A woman in the gallery, uttered some exclamation, called forth by +this dread solemnity; he looked hastily up as if angry at the interruption, and +bent forward yet more attentively. The address was solemn and impressive; the +sentence fearful to hear. But he stood, like a marble figure, without the +motion of a nerve. His haggard face was still thrust forward, his under-jaw +hanging down, and his eyes staring out before him, when the jailer put his hand +upon his arm, and beckoned him away. He gazed stupidly about him for an +instant, and obeyed. +</p> + +<p> +They led him through a paved room under the court, where some prisoners were +waiting till their turns came, and others were talking to their friends, who +crowded round a grate which looked into the open yard. There was nobody there +to speak to <i>him</i>; but, as he passed, the prisoners fell back to render +him more visible to the people who were clinging to the bars: and they assailed +him with opprobrious names, and screeched and hissed. He shook his fist, and +would have spat upon them; but his conductors hurried him on, through a gloomy +passage lighted by a few dim lamps, into the interior of the prison. +</p> + +<p> +Here, he was searched, that he might not have about him the means of +anticipating the law; this ceremony performed, they led him to one of the +condemned cells, and left him there—alone. +</p> + +<p> +He sat down on a stone bench opposite the door, which served for seat and +bedstead; and casting his blood-shot eyes upon the ground, tried to collect his +thoughts. After awhile, he began to remember a few disjointed fragments of what +the judge had said: though it had seemed to him, at the time, that he could not +hear a word. These gradually fell into their proper places, and by degrees +suggested more: so that in a little time he had the whole, almost as it was +delivered. To be hanged by the neck, till he was dead—that was the end. To be +hanged by the neck till he was dead. +</p> + +<p> +As it came on very dark, he began to think of all the men he had known who had +died upon the scaffold; some of them through his means. They rose up, in such +quick succession, that he could hardly count them. He had seen some of them +die,—and had joked too, because they died with prayers upon their lips. With +what a rattling noise the drop went down; and how suddenly they changed, from +strong and vigorous men to dangling heaps of clothes! +</p> + +<p> +Some of them might have inhabited that very cell—sat upon that very spot. It +was very dark; why didn’t they bring a light? The cell had been built for many +years. Scores of men must have passed their last hours there. It was like +sitting in a vault strewn with dead bodies—the cap, the noose, the pinioned +arms, the faces that he knew, even beneath that hideous veil.—Light, light! +</p> + +<p> +At length, when his hands were raw with beating against the heavy door and +walls, two men appeared: one bearing a candle, which he thrust into an iron +candlestick fixed against the wall: the other dragging in a mattress on which +to pass the night; for the prisoner was to be left alone no more. +</p> + +<p> +Then came the night—dark, dismal, silent night. Other watchers are glad to hear +this church-clock strike, for they tell of life and coming day. To him they +brought despair. The boom of every iron bell came laden with the one, deep, +hollow sound—Death. What availed the noise and bustle of cheerful morning, +which penetrated even there, to him? It was another form of knell, with mockery +added to the warning. +</p> + +<p> +The day passed off. Day? There was no day; it was gone as soon as come—and +night came on again; night so long, and yet so short; long in its dreadful +silence, and short in its fleeting hours. At one time he raved and blasphemed; +and at another howled and tore his hair. Venerable men of his own persuasion +had come to pray beside him, but he had driven them away with curses. They +renewed their charitable efforts, and he beat them off. +</p> + +<p> +Saturday night. He had only one night more to live. And as he thought of this, +the day broke—Sunday. +</p> + +<p> +It was not until the night of this last awful day, that a withering sense of +his helpless, desperate state came in its full intensity upon his blighted +soul; not that he had ever held any defined or positive hope of mercy, but that +he had never been able to consider more than the dim probability of dying so +soon. He had spoken little to either of the two men, who relieved each other in +their attendance upon him; and they, for their parts, made no effort to rouse +his attention. He had sat there, awake, but dreaming. Now, he started up, every +minute, and with gasping mouth and burning skin, hurried to and fro, in such a +paroxysm of fear and wrath that even they—used to such sights—recoiled from him +with horror. He grew so terrible, at last, in all the tortures of his evil +conscience, that one man could not bear to sit there, eyeing him alone; and so +the two kept watch together. +</p> + +<p> +He cowered down upon his stone bed, and thought of the past. He had been +wounded with some missiles from the crowd on the day of his capture, and his +head was bandaged with a linen cloth. His red hair hung down upon his bloodless +face; his beard was torn, and twisted into knots; his eyes shone with a +terrible light; his unwashed flesh crackled with the fever that burnt him up. +Eight—nine—then. If it was not a trick to frighten him, and those were the real +hours treading on each other’s heels, where would he be, when they came round +again! Eleven! Another struck, before the voice of the previous hour had ceased +to vibrate. At eight, he would be the only mourner in his own funeral train; at +eleven— +</p> + +<p> +Those dreadful walls of Newgate, which have hidden so much misery and such +unspeakable anguish, not only from the eyes, but, too often, and too long, from +the thoughts, of men, never held so dread a spectacle as that. The few who +lingered as they passed, and wondered what the man was doing who was to be +hanged tomorrow, would have slept but ill that night, if they could have seen +him. +</p> + +<p> +From early in the evening until nearly midnight, little groups of two and three +presented themselves at the lodge-gate, and inquired, with anxious faces, +whether any reprieve had been received. These being answered in the negative, +communicated the welcome intelligence to clusters in the street, who pointed +out to one another the door from which he must come out, and showed where the +scaffold would be built, and, walking with unwilling steps away, turned back to +conjure up the scene. By degrees they fell off, one by one; and, for an hour, +in the dead of night, the street was left to solitude and darkness. +</p> + +<p> +The space before the prison was cleared, and a few strong barriers, painted +black, had been already thrown across the road to break the pressure of the +expected crowd, when Mr. Brownlow and Oliver appeared at the wicket, and +presented an order of admission to the prisoner, signed by one of the sheriffs. +They were immediately admitted into the lodge. +</p> + +<p> +“Is the young gentleman to come too, sir?” said the man whose duty it was to +conduct them. “It’s not a sight for children, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is not indeed, my friend,” rejoined Mr. Brownlow; “but my business with +this man is intimately connected with him; and as this child has seen him in +the full career of his success and villainy, I think it as well—even at the +cost of some pain and fear—that he should see him now.” +</p> + +<p> +These few words had been said apart, so as to be inaudible to Oliver. The man +touched his hat; and glancing at Oliver with some curiousity, opened another +gate, opposite to that by which they had entered, and led them on, through dark +and winding ways, towards the cells. +</p> + +<p> +“This,” said the man, stopping in a gloomy passage where a couple of workmen +were making some preparations in profound silence—“this is the place he passes +through. If you step this way, you can see the door he goes out at.” +</p> + +<p> +He led them into a stone kitchen, fitted with coppers for dressing the prison +food, and pointed to a door. There was an open grating above it, through which +came the sound of men’s voices, mingled with the noise of hammering, and the +throwing down of boards. They were putting up the scaffold. +</p> + +<p> +From this place, they passed through several strong gates, opened by other +turnkeys from the inner side; and, having entered an open yard, ascended a +flight of narrow steps, and came into a passage with a row of strong doors on +the left hand. Motioning them to remain where they were, the turnkey knocked at +one of these with his bunch of keys. The two attendants, after a little +whispering, came out into the passage, stretching themselves as if glad of the +temporary relief, and motioned the visitors to follow the jailer into the cell. +They did so. +</p> + +<p> +The condemned criminal was seated on his bed, rocking himself from side to +side, with a countenance more like that of a snared beast than the face of a +man. His mind was evidently wandering to his old life, for he continued to +mutter, without appearing conscious of their presence otherwise than as a part +of his vision. +</p> + +<p> +“Good boy, Charley—well done—” he mumbled. “Oliver, too, ha! ha! ha! Oliver +too—quite the gentleman now—quite the—take that boy away to bed!” +</p> + +<p> +The jailer took the disengaged hand of Oliver; and, whispering him not to be +alarmed, looked on without speaking. +</p> + +<p> +“Take him away to bed!” cried Fagin. “Do you hear me, some of you? He has been +the—the—somehow the cause of all this. It’s worth the money to bring him up to +it—Bolter’s throat, Bill; never mind the girl—Bolter’s throat as deep as you +can cut. Saw his head off!” +</p> + +<p> +“Fagin,” said the jailer. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s me!” cried the Jew, falling instantly, into the attitude of listening +he had assumed upon his trial. “An old man, my Lord; a very old, old man!” +</p> + +<p> +“Here,” said the turnkey, laying his hand upon his breast to keep him down. +“Here’s somebody wants to see you, to ask you some questions, I suppose. Fagin, +Fagin! Are you a man?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shan’t be one long,” he replied, looking up with a face retaining no human +expression but rage and terror. “Strike them all dead! What right have they to +butcher me?” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke he caught sight of Oliver and Mr. Brownlow. Shrinking to the +furthest corner of the seat, he demanded to know what they wanted there. +</p> + +<p> +“Steady,” said the turnkey, still holding him down. “Now, sir, tell him what +you want. Quick, if you please, for he grows worse as the time gets on.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have some papers,” said Mr. Brownlow advancing, “which were placed in your +hands, for better security, by a man called Monks.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all a lie together,” replied Fagin. “I haven’t one—not one.” +</p> + +<p> +“For the love of God,” said Mr. Brownlow solemnly, “do not say that now, upon +the very verge of death; but tell me where they are. You know that Sikes is +dead; that Monks has confessed; that there is no hope of any further gain. +Where are those papers?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oliver,” cried Fagin, beckoning to him. “Here, here! Let me whisper to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not afraid,” said Oliver in a low voice, as he relinquished Mr. +Brownlow’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +“The papers,” said Fagin, drawing Oliver towards him, “are in a canvas bag, in +a hole a little way up the chimney in the top front-room. I want to talk to +you, my dear. I want to talk to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes,” returned Oliver. “Let me say a prayer. Do! Let me say one prayer. +Say only one, upon your knees, with me, and we will talk till morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Outside, outside,” replied Fagin, pushing the boy before him towards the door, +and looking vacantly over his head. “Say I’ve gone to sleep—they’ll believe +you. You can get me out, if you take me so. Now then, now then!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! God forgive this wretched man!” cried the boy with a burst of tears. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right, that’s right,” said Fagin. “That’ll help us on. This door first. +If I shake and tremble, as we pass the gallows, don’t you mind, but hurry on. +Now, now, now!” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you nothing else to ask him, sir?” inquired the turnkey. +</p> + +<p> +“No other question,” replied Mr. Brownlow. “If I hoped we could recall him to a +sense of his position—” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing will do that, sir,” replied the man, shaking his head. “You had better +leave him.” +</p> + +<p> +The door of the cell opened, and the attendants returned. +</p> + +<p> +“Press on, press on,” cried Fagin. “Softly, but not so slow. Faster, faster!” +</p> + +<p> +The men laid hands upon him, and disengaging Oliver from his grasp, held him +back. He struggled with the power of desperation, for an instant; and then sent +up cry upon cry that penetrated even those massive walls, and rang in their +ears until they reached the open yard. +</p> + +<p> +It was some time before they left the prison. Oliver nearly swooned after this +frightful scene, and was so weak that for an hour or more, he had not the +strength to walk. +</p> + +<p> +Day was dawning when they again emerged. A great multitude had already +assembled; the windows were filled with people, smoking and playing cards to +beguile the time; the crowd were pushing, quarrelling, joking. Everything told +of life and animation, but one dark cluster of objects in the centre of all—the +black stage, the cross-beam, the rope, and all the hideous apparatus of death. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap53"></a> CHAPTER LIII.<br/> +AND LAST</h2> + +<p> +The fortunes of those who have figured in this tale are nearly closed. The +little that remains to their historian to relate, is told in few and simple +words. +</p> + +<p> +Before three months had passed, Rose Fleming and Harry Maylie were married in +the village church which was henceforth to be the scene of the young +clergyman’s labours; on the same day they entered into possession of their new +and happy home. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Maylie took up her abode with her son and daughter-in-law, to enjoy, +during the tranquil remainder of her days, the greatest felicity that age and +worth can know—the contemplation of the happiness of those on whom the warmest +affections and tenderest cares of a well-spent life, have been unceasingly +bestowed. +</p> + +<p> +It appeared, on full and careful investigation, that if the wreck of property +remaining in the custody of Monks (which had never prospered either in his +hands or in those of his mother) were equally divided between himself and +Oliver, it would yield, to each, little more than three thousand pounds. By the +provisions of his father’s will, Oliver would have been entitled to the whole; +but Mr. Brownlow, unwilling to deprive the elder son of the opportunity of +retrieving his former vices and pursuing an honest career, proposed this mode +of distribution, to which his young charge joyfully acceded. +</p> + +<p> +Monks, still bearing that assumed name, retired with his portion to a distant +part of the New World; where, having quickly squandered it, he once more fell +into his old courses, and, after undergoing a long confinement for some fresh +act of fraud and knavery, at length sunk under an attack of his old disorder, +and died in prison. As far from home, died the chief remaining members of his +friend Fagin’s gang. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brownlow adopted Oliver as his son. Removing with him and the old +housekeeper to within a mile of the parsonage-house, where his dear friends +resided, he gratified the only remaining wish of Oliver’s warm and earnest +heart, and thus linked together a little society, whose condition approached as +nearly to one of perfect happiness as can ever be known in this changing world. +</p> + +<p> +Soon after the marriage of the young people, the worthy doctor returned to +Chertsey, where, bereft of the presence of his old friends, he would have been +discontented if his temperament had admitted of such a feeling; and would have +turned quite peevish if he had known how. For two or three months, he contented +himself with hinting that he feared the air began to disagree with him; then, +finding that the place really no longer was, to him, what it had been, he +settled his business on his assistant, took a bachelor’s cottage outside the +village of which his young friend was pastor, and instantaneously recovered. +Here he took to gardening, planting, fishing, carpentering, and various other +pursuits of a similar kind: all undertaken with his characteristic impetuosity. +In each and all he has since become famous throughout the neighbourhood, as a +most profound authority. +</p> + +<p> +Before his removal, he had managed to contract a strong friendship for Mr. +Grimwig, which that eccentric gentleman cordially reciprocated. He is +accordingly visited by Mr. Grimwig a great many times in the course of the +year. On all such occasions, Mr. Grimwig plants, fishes, and carpenters, with +great ardour; doing everything in a very singular and unprecedented manner, but +always maintaining with his favourite asseveration, that his mode is the right +one. On Sundays, he never fails to criticise the sermon to the young +clergyman’s face: always informing Mr. Losberne, in strict confidence +afterwards, that he considers it an excellent performance, but deems it as well +not to say so. It is a standing and very favourite joke, for Mr. Brownlow to +rally him on his old prophecy concerning Oliver, and to remind him of the night +on which they sat with the watch between them, waiting his return; but Mr. +Grimwig contends that he was right in the main, and, in proof thereof, remarks +that Oliver did not come back after all; which always calls forth a laugh on +his side, and increases his good humour. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Noah Claypole: receiving a free pardon from the Crown in consequence of +being admitted approver against Fagin: and considering his profession not +altogether as safe a one as he could wish: was, for some little time, at a loss +for the means of a livelihood, not burdened with too much work. After some +consideration, he went into business as an informer, in which calling he +realises a genteel subsistence. His plan is, to walk out once a week during +church time attended by Charlotte in respectable attire. The lady faints away +at the doors of charitable publicans, and the gentleman being accommodated with +three-penny worth of brandy to restore her, lays an information next day, and +pockets half the penalty. Sometimes Mr. Claypole faints himself, but the result +is the same. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. and Mrs. Bumble, deprived of their situations, were gradually reduced to +great indigence and misery, and finally became paupers in that very same +workhouse in which they had once lorded it over others. Mr. Bumble has been +heard to say, that in this reverse and degradation, he has not even spirits to +be thankful for being separated from his wife. +</p> + +<p> +As to Mr. Giles and Brittles, they still remain in their old posts, although +the former is bald, and the last-named boy quite grey. They sleep at the +parsonage, but divide their attentions so equally among its inmates, and Oliver +and Mr. Brownlow, and Mr. Losberne, that to this day the villagers have never +been able to discover to which establishment they properly belong. +</p> + +<p> +Master Charles Bates, appalled by Sikes’s crime, fell into a train of +reflection whether an honest life was not, after all, the best. Arriving at the +conclusion that it certainly was, he turned his back upon the scenes of the +past, resolved to amend it in some new sphere of action. He struggled hard, and +suffered much, for some time; but, having a contented disposition, and a good +purpose, succeeded in the end; and, from being a farmer’s drudge, and a +carrier’s lad, he is now the merriest young grazier in all Northamptonshire. +</p> + +<p> +And now, the hand that traces these words, falters, as it approaches the +conclusion of its task; and would weave, for a little longer space, the thread +of these adventures. +</p> + +<p> +I would fain linger yet with a few of those among whom I have so long moved, +and share their happiness by endeavouring to depict it. I would show Rose +Maylie in all the bloom and grace of early womanhood, shedding on her secluded +path in life soft and gentle light, that fell on all who trod it with her, and +shone into their hearts. I would paint her the life and joy of the fire-side +circle and the lively summer group; I would follow her through the sultry +fields at noon, and hear the low tones of her sweet voice in the moonlit +evening walk; I would watch her in all her goodness and charity abroad, and the +smiling untiring discharge of domestic duties at home; I would paint her and +her dead sister’s child happy in their love for one another, and passing whole +hours together in picturing the friends whom they had so sadly lost; I would +summon before me, once again, those joyous little faces that clustered round +her knee, and listen to their merry prattle; I would recall the tones of that +clear laugh, and conjure up the sympathising tear that glistened in the soft +blue eye. These, and a thousand looks and smiles, and turns of thought and +speech—I would fain recall them every one. +</p> + +<p> +How Mr. Brownlow went on, from day to day, filling the mind of his adopted +child with stores of knowledge, and becoming attached to him, more and more, as +his nature developed itself, and showed the thriving seeds of all he wished him +to become—how he traced in him new traits of his early friend, that awakened in +his own bosom old remembrances, melancholy and yet sweet and soothing—how the +two orphans, tried by adversity, remembered its lessons in mercy to others, and +mutual love, and fervent thanks to Him who had protected and preserved +them—these are all matters which need not to be told. I have said that they +were truly happy; and without strong affection and humanity of heart, and +gratitude to that Being whose code is Mercy, and whose great attribute is +Benevolence to all things that breathe, happiness can never be attained. +</p> + +<p> +Within the altar of the old village church there stands a white marble tablet, +which bears as yet but one word: “AGNES.” There is no coffin in that tomb; and +may it be many, many years, before another name is placed above it! But, if the +spirits of the Dead ever come back to earth, to visit spots hallowed by the +love—the love beyond the grave—of those whom they knew in life, I believe that +the shade of Agnes sometimes hovers round that solemn nook. I believe it none +the less because that nook is in a Church, and she was weak and erring. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 730 ***</div> +</body> + +</html> + + + + + diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3790055 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12 @@ + +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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