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git-subtree-dir: fbreader/fbreader git-subtree-split: 7abc80d12fab06b05ea1fe68a0e73ea5e9486463
18798 lines
895 KiB
Text
18798 lines
895 KiB
Text
OLIVER TWIST
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OR
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THE PARISH BOY'S PROGRESS
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BY
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CHARLES DICKENS
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CONTENTS
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I TREATS OF THE PLACE WHERE OLIVER TWIST WAS BORN AND OF THE
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CIRCUMSTANCES ATTENDING HIS BIRTH
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II TREATS OF OLIVER TWIST'S GROWTH, EDUCATION, AND BOARD
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III RELATES HOW OLIVER TWIST WAS VERY NEAR GETTING A PLACE WHICH
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WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN A SINECURE
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IV OLIVER, BEING OFFERED ANOTHER PLACE, MAKES HIS FIRST ENTRY INTO
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PUBLIC LIFE
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V OLIVER MINGLES WITH NEW ASSOCIATES. GOING TO A FUNERAL FOR THE
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FIRST TIME, HE FORMS AN UNFAVOURABLE NOTION OF HIS MASTER'S
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BUSINESS
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VI OLIVER, BEING GOADED BY THE TAUNTS OF NOAH, ROUSES INTO ACTION,
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AND RATHER ASTONISHES HIM
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VII OLIVER CONTINUES REFRACTORY
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VIII OLIVER WALKS TO LONDON. HE ENCOUNTERS ON THE ROAD A STRANGE
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SORT OF YOUNG GENTLEMAN
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IX CONTAINING FURTHER PARTICULARS CONCERNING THE PLEASANT OLD
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GENTLEMAN, AND HIS HOPEFUL PUPILS
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X OLIVER BECOMES BETTER ACQUAINTED WITH THE CHARACTERS OF HIS NEW
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ASSOCIATES; AND PURCHASES EXPERIENCE AT A HIGH PRICE. BEING A
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SHORT, BUT VERY IMPORTANT CHAPTER, IN THIS HISTORY
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XI TREATS OF MR. FANG THE POLICE MAGISTRATE; AND FURNISHES A
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SLIGHT SPECIMEN OF HIS MODE OF ADMINISTERING JUSTICE
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XII IN WHICH OLIVER IS TAKEN BETTER CARE OF THAN HE EVER WAS
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BEFORE. AND IN WHICH THE NARRATIVE REVERTS TO THE MERRY OLD
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GENTLEMAN AND HIS YOUTHFUL FRIENDS.
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XIII SOME NEW ACQUAINTANCES ARE INTRODUCED TO THE INTELLIGENT READER,
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CONNECTED WITH WHOM VARIOUS PLEASANT MATTERS ARE RELATED,
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APPERTAINING TO THIS HISTORY
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XIV COMPRISING FURTHER PARTICULARS OF OLIVER'S STAY AT MR.
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BROWNLOW'S, WITH THE REMARKABLE PREDICTION WHICH ONE MR. GRIMWIG
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UTTERED CONCERNING HIM, WHEN HE WENT OUT ON AN ERRAND
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XV SHOWING HOW VERY FOND OF OLIVER TWIST, THE MERRY OLD JEW AND
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MISS NANCY WERE
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XVI RELATES WHAT BECAME OF OLIVER TWIST, AFTER HE HAD BEEN CLAIMED
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BY NANCY
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XVII OLIVER'S DESTINY CONTINUING UNPROPITIOUS, BRINGS A GREAT MAN TO
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LONDON TO INJURE HIS REPUTATION
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XVIII HOW OLIVER PASSED HIS TIME IN THE IMPROVING SOCIETY OF HIS
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REPUTABLE FRIENDS
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XIX IN WHICH A NOTABLE PLAN IS DISCUSSED AND DETERMINED ON
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XX WHEREIN OLIVER IS DELIVERED OVER TO MR. WILLIAM SIKES
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XXI THE EXPEDITION
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XXII THE BURGLARY
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XXIII WHICH CONTAINS THE SUBSTANCE OF A PLEASANT CONVERSATION BETWEEN
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MR. BUMBLE AND A LADY; AND SHOWS THAT EVEN A BEADLE MAY BE
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SUSCEPTIBLE ON SOME POINTS
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XXIV TREATS ON A VERY POOR SUBJECT. BUT IS A SHORT ONE, AND MAY BE
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FOUND OF IMPORTANCE IN THIS HISTORY
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XXV WHEREIN THIS HISTORY REVERTS TO MR. FAGIN AND COMPANY
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XXVI IN WHICH A MYSTERIOUS CHARACTER APPEARS UPON THE SCENE; AND MANY
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THINGS, INSEPARABLE FROM THIS HISTORY, ARE DONE AND PERFORMED
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XXVII ATONES FOR THE UNPOLITENESS OF A FORMER CHAPTER; WHICH DESERTED
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A LADY, MOST UNCEREMONIOUSLY
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XXVIII LOOKS AFTER OLIVER, AND PROCEEDS WITH HIS ADVENTURES
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XXIX HAS AN INTRODUCTORY ACCOUNT OF THE INMATES OF THE HOUSE, TO
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WHICH OLIVER RESORTED
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XXX RELATES WHAT OLIVER'S NEW VISITORS THOUGHT OF HIM
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XXXI INVOLVES A CRITICAL POSITION
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XXXII OF THE HAPPY LIFE OLIVER BEGAN TO LEAD WITH HIS KIND FRIENDS
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XXXIII WHEREIN THE HAPPINESS OF OLIVER AND HIS FRIENDS, EXPERIENCES A
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SUDDEN CHECK
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XXXIV CONTAINS SOME INTRODUCTORY PARTICULARS RELATIVE TO A YOUNG
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GENTLEMAN WHO NOW ARRIVES UPON THE SCENE; AND A NEW ADVENTURE
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WHICH HAPPENED TO OLIVER
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XXXV CONTAINING THE UNSATISFACTORY RESULT OF OLIVER'S ADVENTURE; AND
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A CONVERSATION OF SOME IMPORTANCE BETWEEN HARRY MAYLIE AND ROSE
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XXXVI IS A VERY SHORT ONE, AND MAY APPEAR OF NO GREAT IMPORTANCE IN
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ITS PLACE, BUT IT SHOULD BE READ NOTWITHSTANDING, AS A SEQUEL
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TO THE LAST, AND A KEY TO ONE THAT WILL FOLLOW WHEN ITS TIME
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ARRIVES
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XXXVII IN WHICH THE READER MAY PERCEIVE A CONTRAST, NOT UNCOMMON IN
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MATRIMONIAL CASES
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XXXVIII CONTAINING AN ACCOUNT OF WHAT PASSED BETWEEN MR. AND MRS.
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BUMBLE, AND MR. MONKS, AT THEIR NOCTURNAL INTERVIEW
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XXXIX INTRODUCES SOME RESPECTABLE CHARACTERS WITH WHOM THE READER IS
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ALREADY ACQUAINTED, AND SHOWS HOW MONKS AND THE JEW LAID THEIR
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WORTHY HEADS TOGETHER
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XL A STRANGE INTERVIEW, WHICH IS A SEQUEL TO THE LAST CHAMBER
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XLI CONTAINING FRESH DISCOVERIES, AND SHOWING THAT SUPRISES, LIKE
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MISFORTUNES, SELDOM COME ALONE
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XLII AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE OF OLIVER'S, EXHIBITING DECIDED MARKS OF
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GENIUS, BECOMES A PUBLIC CHARACTER IN THE METROPOLIS
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XLIII WHEREIN IS SHOWN HOW THE ARTFUL DODGER GOT INTO TROUBLE
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XLIV THE TIME ARRIVES FOR NANCY TO REDEEM HER PLEDGE TO ROSE MAYLIE.
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SHE FAILS.
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XLV NOAH CLAYPOLE IS EMPLOYED BY FAGIN ON A SECRET MISSION
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XLVI THE APPOINTMENT KEPT
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XLVII FATAL CONSEQUENCES
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XLVIII THE FLIGHT OF SIKES
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XLIX MONKS AND MR. BROWNLOW AT LENGTH MEET. THEIR CONVERSATION,
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AND THE INTELLIGENCE THAT INTERRUPTS IT
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L THE PURSUIT AND ESCAPE
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LI AFFORDING AN EXPLANATION OF MORE MYSTERIES THAN ONE, AND
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COMPREHENDING A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE WITH NO WORD OF SETTLEMENT
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OR PIN-MONEY
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LII FAGIN'S LAST NIGHT ALIVE
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LIII AND LAST
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CHAPTER I
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TREATS OF THE PLACE WHERE OLIVER TWIST WAS BORN AND OF THE
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CIRCUMSTANCES ATTENDING HIS BIRTH
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Among other public buildings in a certain town, which for many reasons
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it will be prudent to refrain from mentioning, and to which I will
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assign no fictitious name, there is one anciently common to most towns,
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great or small: to wit, a workhouse; and in this workhouse was born; on
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a day and date which I need not trouble myself to repeat, inasmuch as
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it can be of no possible consequence to the reader, in this stage of
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the business at all events; the item of mortality whose name is
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prefixed to the head of this chapter.
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For a long time after it was ushered into this world of sorrow and
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trouble, by the parish surgeon, it remained a matter of considerable
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doubt whether the child would survive to bear any name at all; in which
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case it is somewhat more than probable that these memoirs would never
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have appeared; or, if they had, that being comprised within a couple of
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pages, they would have possessed the inestimable merit of being the
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most concise and faithful specimen of biography, extant in the
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literature of any age or country.
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Although I am not disposed to maintain that the being born in a
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workhouse, is in itself the most fortunate and enviable circumstance
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that can possibly befall a human being, I do mean to say that in this
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particular instance, it was the best thing for Oliver Twist that could
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by possibility have occurred. The fact is, that there was considerable
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difficulty in inducing Oliver to take upon himself the office of
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respiration,--a troublesome practice, but one which custom has rendered
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necessary to our easy existence; and for some time he lay gasping on a
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little flock mattress, rather unequally poised between this world and
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the next: the balance being decidedly in favour of the latter. Now,
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if, during this brief period, Oliver had been surrounded by careful
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grandmothers, anxious aunts, experienced nurses, and doctors of
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profound wisdom, he would most inevitably and indubitably have been
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killed in no time. There being nobody by, however, but a pauper old
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woman, who was rendered rather misty by an unwonted allowance of beer;
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and a parish surgeon who did such matters by contract; Oliver and
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Nature fought out the point between them. The result was, that, after
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a few struggles, Oliver breathed, sneezed, and proceeded to advertise
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to the inmates of the workhouse the fact of a new burden having been
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imposed upon the parish, by setting up as loud a cry as could
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reasonably have been expected from a male infant who had not been
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possessed of that very useful appendage, a voice, for a much longer
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space of time than three minutes and a quarter.
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As Oliver gave this first proof of the free and proper action of his
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lungs, the patchwork coverlet which was carelessly flung over the iron
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bedstead, rustled; the pale face of a young woman was raised feebly
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from the pillow; and a faint voice imperfectly articulated the words,
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'Let me see the child, and die.'
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The surgeon had been sitting with his face turned towards the fire:
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giving the palms of his hands a warm and a rub alternately. As the
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young woman spoke, he rose, and advancing to the bed's head, said, with
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more kindness than might have been expected of him:
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'Oh, you must not talk about dying yet.'
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'Lor bless her dear heart, no!' interposed the nurse, hastily
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depositing in her pocket a green glass bottle, the contents of which
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she had been tasting in a corner with evident satisfaction.
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'Lor bless her dear heart, when she has lived as long as I have, sir,
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and had thirteen children of her own, and all on 'em dead except two,
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and them in the wurkus with me, she'll know better than to take on in
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that way, bless her dear heart! Think what it is to be a mother,
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there's a dear young lamb do.'
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Apparently this consolatory perspective of a mother's prospects failed
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in producing its due effect. The patient shook her head, and stretched
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out her hand towards the child.
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The surgeon deposited it in her arms. She imprinted her cold white
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lips passionately on its forehead; passed her hands over her face;
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gazed wildly round; shuddered; fell back--and died. They chafed her
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breast, hands, and temples; but the blood had stopped forever. They
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talked of hope and comfort. They had been strangers too long.
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'It's all over, Mrs. Thingummy!' said the surgeon at last.
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'Ah, poor dear, so it is!' said the nurse, picking up the cork of the
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green bottle, which had fallen out on the pillow, as she stooped to
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take up the child. 'Poor dear!'
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'You needn't mind sending up to me, if the child cries, nurse,' said
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the surgeon, putting on his gloves with great deliberation. 'It's very
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likely it _will_ be troublesome. Give it a little gruel if it is.' He
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put on his hat, and, pausing by the bed-side on his way to the door,
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added, 'She was a good-looking girl, too; where did she come from?'
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'She was brought here last night,' replied the old woman, 'by the
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overseer's order. She was found lying in the street. She had walked
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some distance, for her shoes were worn to pieces; but where she came
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from, or where she was going to, nobody knows.'
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The surgeon leaned over the body, and raised the left hand. 'The old
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story,' he said, shaking his head: 'no wedding-ring, I see. Ah!
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Good-night!'
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The medical gentleman walked away to dinner; and the nurse, having once
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more applied herself to the green bottle, sat down on a low chair
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before the fire, and proceeded to dress the infant.
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What an excellent example of the power of dress, young Oliver Twist
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was! Wrapped in the blanket which had hitherto formed his only
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covering, he might have been the child of a nobleman or a beggar; it
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would have been hard for the haughtiest stranger to have assigned him
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his proper station in society. But now that he was enveloped in the
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old calico robes which had grown yellow in the same service, he was
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badged and ticketed, and fell into his place at once--a parish
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child--the orphan of a workhouse--the humble, half-starved drudge--to
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be cuffed and buffeted through the world--despised by all, and pitied
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by none.
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Oliver cried lustily. If he could have known that he was an orphan,
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left to the tender mercies of church-wardens and overseers, perhaps he
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would have cried the louder.
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CHAPTER II
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TREATS OF OLIVER TWIST'S GROWTH, EDUCATION, AND BOARD
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For the next eight or ten months, Oliver was the victim of a systematic
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course of treachery and deception. He was brought up by hand. The
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hungry and destitute situation of the infant orphan was duly reported
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by the workhouse authorities to the parish authorities. The parish
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authorities inquired with dignity of the workhouse authorities, whether
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there was no female then domiciled in 'the house' who was in a
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situation to impart to Oliver Twist, the consolation and nourishment of
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which he stood in need. The workhouse authorities replied with
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humility, that there was not. Upon this, the parish authorities
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magnanimously and humanely resolved, that Oliver should be 'farmed,'
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or, in other words, that he should be dispatched to a branch-workhouse
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some three miles off, where twenty or thirty other juvenile offenders
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against the poor-laws, rolled about the floor all day, without the
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inconvenience of too much food or too much clothing, under the parental
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superintendence of an elderly female, who received the culprits at and
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for the consideration of sevenpence-halfpenny per small head per week.
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Sevenpence-halfpenny's worth per week is a good round diet for a child;
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a great deal may be got for sevenpence-halfpenny, quite enough to
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overload its stomach, and make it uncomfortable. The elderly female was
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a woman of wisdom and experience; she knew what was good for children;
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and she had a very accurate perception of what was good for herself.
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So, she appropriated the greater part of the weekly stipend to her own
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use, and consigned the rising parochial generation to even a shorter
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allowance than was originally provided for them. Thereby finding in
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the lowest depth a deeper still; and proving herself a very great
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experimental philosopher.
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Everybody knows the story of another experimental philosopher who had a
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great theory about a horse being able to live without eating, and who
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demonstrated it so well, that he had got his own horse down to a straw
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a day, and would unquestionably have rendered him a very spirited and
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rampacious animal on nothing at all, if he had not died,
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four-and-twenty hours before he was to have had his first comfortable
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bait of air. Unfortunately for, the experimental philosophy of the
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female to whose protecting care Oliver Twist was delivered over, a
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similar result usually attended the operation of _her_ system; for at
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the very moment when the child had contrived to exist upon the smallest
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possible portion of the weakest possible food, it did perversely happen
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in eight and a half cases out of ten, either that it sickened from want
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and cold, or fell into the fire from neglect, or got half-smothered by
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accident; in any one of which cases, the miserable little being was
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usually summoned into another world, and there gathered to the fathers
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it had never known in this.
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Occasionally, when there was some more than usually interesting inquest
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upon a parish child who had been overlooked in turning up a bedstead,
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or inadvertently scalded to death when there happened to be a
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washing--though the latter accident was very scarce, anything
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approaching to a washing being of rare occurrence in the farm--the jury
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would take it into their heads to ask troublesome questions, or the
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parishioners would rebelliously affix their signatures to a
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remonstrance. But these impertinences were speedily checked by the
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evidence of the surgeon, and the testimony of the beadle; the former of
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whom had always opened the body and found nothing inside (which was
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very probable indeed), and the latter of whom invariably swore whatever
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the parish wanted; which was very self-devotional. Besides, the board
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made periodical pilgrimages to the farm, and always sent the beadle the
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day before, to say they were going. The children were neat and clean
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to behold, when _they_ went; and what more would the people have!
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It cannot be expected that this system of farming would produce any
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very extraordinary or luxuriant crop. Oliver Twist's ninth birthday
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found him a pale thin child, somewhat diminutive in stature, and
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decidedly small in circumference. But nature or inheritance had
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implanted a good sturdy spirit in Oliver's breast. It had had plenty
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of room to expand, thanks to the spare diet of the establishment; and
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perhaps to this circumstance may be attributed his having any ninth
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birth-day at all. Be this as it may, however, it was his ninth
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birthday; and he was keeping it in the coal-cellar with a select party
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of two other young gentleman, who, after participating with him in a
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sound thrashing, had been locked up for atrociously presuming to be
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hungry, when Mrs. Mann, the good lady of the house, was unexpectedly
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startled by the apparition of Mr. Bumble, the beadle, striving to undo
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the wicket of the garden-gate.
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'Goodness gracious! Is that you, Mr. Bumble, sir?' said Mrs. Mann,
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thrusting her head out of the window in well-affected ecstasies of joy.
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'(Susan, take Oliver and them two brats upstairs, and wash 'em
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directly.)--My heart alive! Mr. Bumble, how glad I am to see you,
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sure-ly!'
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Now, Mr. Bumble was a fat man, and a choleric; so, instead of
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responding to this open-hearted salutation in a kindred spirit, he gave
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the little wicket a tremendous shake, and then bestowed upon it a kick
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which could have emanated from no leg but a beadle's.
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'Lor, only think,' said Mrs. Mann, running out,--for the three boys had
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been removed by this time,--'only think of that! That I should have
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forgotten that the gate was bolted on the inside, on account of them
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dear children! Walk in sir; walk in, pray, Mr. Bumble, do, sir.'
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Although this invitation was accompanied with a curtsey that might have
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softened the heart of a church-warden, it by no means mollified the
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beadle.
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'Do you think this respectful or proper conduct, Mrs. Mann,' inquired
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Mr. Bumble, grasping his cane, 'to keep the parish officers a waiting
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at your garden-gate, when they come here upon porochial business with
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the porochial orphans? Are you aweer, Mrs. Mann, that you are, as I
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may say, a porochial delegate, and a stipendiary?'
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'I'm sure Mr. Bumble, that I was only a telling one or two of the dear
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children as is so fond of you, that it was you a coming,' replied Mrs.
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Mann with great humility.
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Mr. Bumble had a great idea of his oratorical powers and his
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importance. He had displayed the one, and vindicated the other. He
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relaxed.
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'Well, well, Mrs. Mann,' he replied in a calmer tone; 'it may be as you
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say; it may be. Lead the way in, Mrs. Mann, for I come on business,
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and have something to say.'
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Mrs. Mann ushered the beadle into a small parlour with a brick floor;
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placed a seat for him; and officiously deposited his cocked hat and
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cane on the table before him. Mr. Bumble wiped from his forehead the
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perspiration which his walk had engendered, glanced complacently at the
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cocked hat, and smiled. Yes, he smiled. Beadles are but men: and Mr.
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Bumble smiled.
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'Now don't you be offended at what I'm a going to say,' observed Mrs.
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Mann, with captivating sweetness. 'You've had a long walk, you know,
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or I wouldn't mention it. Now, will you take a little drop of
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somethink, Mr. Bumble?'
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'Not a drop. Nor a drop,' said Mr. Bumble, waving his right hand in a
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dignified, but placid manner.
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'I think you will,' said Mrs. Mann, who had noticed the tone of the
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refusal, and the gesture that had accompanied it. 'Just a leetle drop,
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with a little cold water, and a lump of sugar.'
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Mr. Bumble coughed.
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'Now, just a leetle drop,' said Mrs. Mann persuasively.
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'What is it?' inquired the beadle.
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'Why, it's what I'm obliged to keep a little of in the house, to put
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into the blessed infants' Daffy, when they ain't well, Mr. Bumble,'
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replied Mrs. Mann as she opened a corner cupboard, and took down a
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bottle and glass. 'It's gin. I'll not deceive you, Mr. B. It's gin.'
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'Do you give the children Daffy, Mrs. Mann?' inquired Bumble, following
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with his eyes the interesting process of mixing.
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'Ah, bless 'em, that I do, dear as it is,' replied the nurse. 'I
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couldn't see 'em suffer before my very eyes, you know sir.'
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'No'; said Mr. Bumble approvingly; 'no, you could not. You are a
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humane woman, Mrs. Mann.' (Here she set down the glass.) 'I shall
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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 to-day.'
|
|
|
|
'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, less 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 to-morrow 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-factor 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 for 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, or 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 to-morrow, 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, then, 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 bourne 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 haven 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 to-morrow, or next day, or to-night? 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 hatband, 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 come 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 bystanders, 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
|
|
over-fed 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 gentlman 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 to-night, 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 to-night; 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 genelman 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
|
|
protege of the elderly gentleman before mentioned.
|
|
|
|
Mr. Dawkin'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 gentlman.
|
|
|
|
'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 gentlman 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 gentlman 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 Doger.
|
|
|
|
'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 his 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 follow 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 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 saw 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, expecially 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.[Footnote: Or were virtually, then.] 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 by,' 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 will 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 to-night. 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
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|
|
|
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.
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|
|
|
'Ah!' said the housekeeper, watching the direction of Oliver's eyes.
|
|
'It is gone, you see.'
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|
|
|
'I see it is ma'am,' replied Oliver. 'Why have they taken it away?'
|
|
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|
'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.
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|
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|
'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.
|
|
|
|
'To-morrow morning,' replied Mr. Brownlow. 'I would rather he was
|
|
alone with me at the time. Come up to me to-morrow 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 to-morrow 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 to-night.'
|
|
|
|
'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 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 we 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 cant' 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 law 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 to-night. 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 to-night, 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 Mr. 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 heard 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 advise 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 sign, 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 Doger. '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 go 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 Charly. 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 to-morrow,' 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 to-morrow 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. 'To-morrow. To-morrow.'
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
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 the 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 to-night, 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, scarecely 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, to-night, 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 to-night. 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 to-day, and they'll come
|
|
back for another, the day after to-morrow, 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 mag, 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 charge 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 master 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 Artfull 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 to-night.
|
|
|
|
'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
|
|
to-night?'
|
|
|
|
'Nothing to-night,' 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 to-night?' 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
|
|
to-night. No, say to-morrow. As he is not here, to-morrow 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.
|
|
|
|
'Your 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 to-morrow. 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 to-night, 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 to-morrow 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
|
|
to-morrow 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 become 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 bearers (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 expecially 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 shell 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 to-day, 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 is 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 to-night, 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 to-day.'
|
|
|
|
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 to-night, 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. Maylies; '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 every 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
|
|
to-morrow.'
|
|
|
|
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 is 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 to-night?' 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
|
|
to-day, 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, to-day.'
|
|
|
|
'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 to-morrow 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 relection,
|
|
'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, to-day, 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.
|
|
|
|
'To-morrow,' 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; bu 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 to-morrow
|
|
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 to-night, 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 to-night, 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 to-night.'
|
|
|
|
'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 is 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 to-night; 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 returned, 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, to-night, 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 party 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
|
|
to-night.'
|
|
|
|
'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.
|
|
|
|
'To-morrow 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 to-morrow 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 to-day, 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 to-day, 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 to-night, 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 to-night 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 to-night,' 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 to-night 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 to-night, 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
|
|
to-night.'
|
|
|
|
'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 to-night, 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 to-night, 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 hit 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 plant 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 to-night; 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 to-night 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 to-morrow 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'
|
|
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 ought 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 to-night!'
|
|
|
|
'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 to-night.'
|
|
|
|
'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 to-morrow, 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.'
|
|
|
|
'To-night'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 window 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 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 other, 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
|
|
draggin 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 gentlman, 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 to-night, 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 to-night? 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 to-night,'--Harry began.
|
|
|
|
'The disclosure of to-night,' 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 to-night.'
|
|
|
|
'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 to-night,' 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 juryman 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 to-morrow, 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. There 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,
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and fervent thanks to Him who had protected and preserved them--these
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are all matters which need not to be told. I have said that they were
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truly happy; and without strong affection and humanity of heart, and
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gratitude to that Being whose code is Mercy, and whose great attribute
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is Benevolence to all things that breathe, happiness can never be
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attained.
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Within the altar of the old village church there stands a white marble
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tablet, which bears as yet but one word: 'AGNES.' There is no coffin
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in that tomb; and may it be many, many years, before another name is
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placed above it! But, if the spirits of the Dead ever come back to
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earth, to visit spots hallowed by the love--the love beyond the
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grave--of those whom they knew in life, I believe that the shade of
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Agnes sometimes hovers round that solemn nook. I believe it none the
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less because that nook is in a Church, and she was weak and erring.
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