 CHAPTER XXXIV Contained 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'd scarcely the power of understanding anything that had passed, until after a long ramble in the quiet evening air, the 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, laid with flowers which he had culled, with particular care for the adornment of the sick chamber. As he walked bristly along the road, he heard the noise of some vehicle approaching at a furious pace. Looking round he saw that it was a post-chase, driven at great speed, and the horses were galloping and the road was narrow. He stood leaning against the gate until it should have passed him. As it dashed on, Oliver caught a glimpse of a man, in a white nightcap, who was facing 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 chase window, and a stentorian voice bellowed to the driver to stop, which he did as soon as he could pull up his horses. The nightcap once again appeared, with the same voice called Oliver by his name. He echoed the voice, Oliver, what's the news? This rose, Master Oliver. Is it you, Giles? cried Oliver, running up to the chase door. Giles popped out his nightcap again, proprietary to making some reply. But he was suddenly pulled back by a young gentleman. He occupied the other corner of the chase, 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, explained the gentleman. Are you sure? Quite so replied Oliver. The change took place only a few hours ago, and Mr Loosebone says that all danger is at an end. The gentleman said not another word, but let me in the chase door, leapt out, and taking Oliver hurriedly by the arm, led him aside. You're quite certain. There is no possibility of any mistake on your part, my boy, is there? Did 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 Loosebone'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, failing to be occupied with his nose-gay. All this time Mr Jars, with a white nightcap on, had been sitting on the steps of the chase, supporting an elbow on each knee, and wiping his eyes with a blue cotton pocket-hacker-chief dotted with white spots. The honest fellow had not been fainting emotion, was abundantly demonstrated by the very red eyes, for which he regarded the young gentleman when he turned round and addressed it. I think he had better go on to my mother's in the chase, Jars, said he. I would rather walk slowly on, so as to gain little time before I see her. You could say I am coming. I beg your pardon, Mr Harry, said Jars, giving a final polish to his ruffled countenance with the Hacker-Chief, 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 maize to see me in this state, sir. I shall never have any more authority with them if they did. Well, rejoined Harry May, in his smiling, you can do as you like. Let him go on with the luggage, if you wish it, and do follow with us. Only first exchange that nightcap for some more appropriate covering, all we should be taken from 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 chase. This done the postboy drove off. Giles, Mr Mayly and Oliver followed at their leisure. As they walked along, Oliver glanced from time to time with much interesting curiosity at the newcomer. He seemed about five and twenty years of age, and was of middle height. His countenance was frank and handsome, and his demeanour easy and prepossessing. Notwithstanding the difference between youth and age, he bore so strong a likeness to the old lady that Oliver would have no great difficulty in imagining their relationship if he had not already spoken over it as his mother. Mrs Mayly was anxiously waiting to receive her sub when he reached the cottage. The meeting did not take place for that great emotion on both sides. Mother, whispered the young man, why did you not write before? I did reply, Mrs Mayly, but on reflection I determined to keep back the letter until I had heard Mr Lospawn's opinion. But one may have 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 have ever forgiven yourself? How could I have ever known happiness again? If that had been the case, Harry, said Mrs Mayly, I fear your happiness would have been affectionately blighted, and that your arrival here a day sooner or later would have been a very, very little import. And who could wonder if it be so, mother, who joined the young man? Or why, shall I say, if it is, it is? You know, mother, you must know it. I know that she deserves the best and purest love the heart of man can offer, said Mrs Mayly. I know that the devotion and affection of her nature require no ordinary return, but one that should be deep in lasting. If I did not feel this and know, besides, whether the changed behaviour and one she loved would break her heart, I should not feel my task so difficult of performance, or have to encourage so many struggles in my own bosom, when I take what seems to me 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 is stating the impulses of my own soul? I think, my dear son, return, Mrs Mayly, laying her hand upon his shoulder, that youth has many generous impulses which do not last, and that among them a son, 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 default 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 smears against him. He may, no matter how generous and good his nature, one day repent the connection he formed in an early life, and she may have the pain of knowing that he does so. Mother, said the young man, patiently. He would be a selfish brute, unworthy alike of a name of man and of woman, who described you 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, rings for me the avowal to you of a passion, which as you will 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 can cast them to the wind. Mother, think better of this than of me, and do not disregard the happiness of what you seem to think so little. Harry, said Mrs. Maylee, 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 the 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 rejoin Mrs. Maylee, 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 shall 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. Maylee. There is something in your manner which would almost imply that she will hear me coldly, mother, said the young man. Not coldly would you join the old lady, far from it. How then knows the young man, how she formed no other attachment? No indeed replied his mother. You have, or I must stake 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 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 the effect of the knowledge of her doubtful birth may have on her decision, the voters 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. Maylee. I must go back to her. God bless you. I shall see you again tonight, said the young man, eagerly. By and by, replied the lady, when I leave Rose. You will tell I am here, said Harry. Of course, replied Mrs. Maylee. And 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. Lewis, born in Oliver, had remained at another end of the apartment where this hurried conversation was proceeding. The former now held in his hand to Harry Maylee, and hearty salutations were exchanged between them. The doctor then communicated in reply to a multifarious question 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. There was shot anything particular lately, Giles, inquired the doctor, when he had concluded. Nothing particular, sir, replied Mr. Giles, colouring up to the eyes. Not catching any thieves, or identifying any housebreakers, 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 Brittle's? The boy's 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, but on the day before on that which I was called away so hurrily, I executed at the request of your good mistress, a small commission in your favour. We just step into this corner a moment, will you? Mr. Giles walked into the corner with much importance, and some wonder. I 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 stateness. The subject matter of this conference was not disclosed in the parlour, but in the kitchen was speedily enlightened. 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 pleased his mistress, in consideration of his gallant behaviour, on the occasion of the 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's servant lifted up their hands and eyes, and supposed that Mr. Giles, pulling out his shirt-fill, replied, No, no, and that if they observed that he was all haughty to his inferiors, he would thank them to tell him so, and then he made a great many other remark, no less illustrative of his humility, which were received with equal favour and applause, and were, with all, as original 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 doctors in high spirits and however fatigued or thoughtful Harry Mayley might have been at first, he was not proof against the worthy gentleman's good humour, which displayed itself in great variety of sallies and professional recollections. And an abundance of small jokes which struck Oliver as being the joyous 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 a pleasant party under the circumstances that they could well have been. It was late before they retired, with light and thankful hearts for that rest which after the doubt and suspense they had recently undergone, they stood in much need. Oliver rose the next morning in better heart and went about his usual occupations with more hope and pleasure than he'd know for many days. The birds were once more hung out to sing in their old places, and the sweetest wildflowers 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 sweeter music, and the sky itself looked more blue and bright, such as the influence which the condition of her own thoughts exercised, even over the appearance of external objects, men who look on nature and their fellow man, cry that all is dark and gloomy, are in the light, but the somber 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 that Oliver did not fail to note it at the time, but his morning exhibitions were no longer made at all. Harry Maley after the very first morning that he met Oliver, coming laden home, was seeded with such a passion for flowers, had displayed such a taste in their arrangement, as left his young companion far behind. If Oliver were befriended in these respects, he knew where the best was to be found, and morning after morning they scarred the country together, and brought home the fairest that blossomed. The window of the young lady's chamber was open now, for she loved to feel the rich summer air stream in, and revival with its freshness. But there always stood in water just outside the little 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. 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 saved now and then for a short distance with Mrs. Maylee, he applied himself with redoubled acidity 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 as his books was on the ground floor at the back of the house. It was a quiet cottage room, with a lattice window round which were clusters of jasmine and honey supple, that crept over the casement and filled the place with a delicious perfume. He looked into a garden whence a wiki gate opened into a small paddock. All beyond was fine meadowland 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'd been pouring over them for some time, and as the day had been uncommonly sultry, he had exerted himself a great deal. There is no disparagement to the authors, whoever they may have been, to say that gradually and by slow degrees he fell asleep. It was 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 a 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 nearest 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 plant outside, and yet he was asleep. Suddenly the scene changed, the air became closer 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 inverted who sat beside him. I asked my dear, he thought he heard the Jew say. It is he, sure enough, come away. He exclaimed the other man. He, the other man, seemed to answer. Could I mistake him, thank you? A crowd of ghosts were putting themselves in his exact shape, but he stood amongst them. There was something that would tell me how to point him out. If he buried him fifty feet deep and took me across his grave, or 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 a 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 he could have almost touched him. Poorly started back with his eyes peering into the room, and meeting his, there stood the Jew, and beside him, white with rage or fear of both, were the scowling features of the man who had accosted him at the innyard. It was but an instant, a glance, a flash before his eyes, and they were gone. But they had recognised him and he then, 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, and leaping from the window into the garden, called out loudly for help. End of Chapter 34 Chapter 35 The Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 35 Containing the unsatisfactory results of Oliver's adventure, and a conversation of some importance between Harry Meily 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. John Mills was at a loss to comprehend what the outcry meant, but Harry Meily, 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 up a 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 a matter of exceeding difficulty for the others to keep near him. John was followed as well as he could, and Oliver followed too, and in a course of a minute or two, Mr. Loosburn, who had been out walking and just then returned, tumbled over the hedge after them, picking himself up with more agility than he could have 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 at 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. Loosburn the circumstances that had led to so vigorous a pursuit. The search was all in vain, there were not even traces of recent footsteps to be seen, they stood now on the side 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 meadowland in another direction, but they could not have gained that covert for the same reason. It must have been a dream all of us, said Harry mainly. Oh no indeed, sir replied Oliver, shuddering at the very recollection of the old wretched countenance. I saw him do plainly for that, I saw them both as plainly as I see you now. Who was the other, inquirent Harry and Mr. Loosburn together? The very same man I told you of who came so suddenly upon me at the end, said Oliver. We had our eyes full fixed upon each other and I could swear to him. They took this way demanded Harry, are you sure? As I am that the man 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 leapt over just there and the Jew running a few places 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 with the accuracy of what he said. Still in no direction were there any appearances of the trampling of men in a 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 should indicate that any feet had pressed the ground for hours before. This is strange, said Harry, strange echoed the doctor. Brothers and duck 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. Jarls was dispatched to the different islehouses in the village, furnished with the best description Oliver could give of the appearance and dress of the strangers. Of these the Jews at all events sufficiently remarkable to be remembered, supposing he had been seen drinking or loitering about. But Jarls 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 Maylee repaired to the market town in the hope of seeing or hearing something of the men there, but the effort was equally fruitless. After a few days the affair began to be forgotten, as most affairs are, in wonder having no fresh food to support it dies away of itself. Meanwhile Rose was rapidly recovering, she had left the 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 unwanted restraint upon some there, even upon Rose herself, which Oliver could not fail to remark. Mrs Maylee 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 Lospole had fixed a date 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 parlor, Harry Maylee entered and with some hesitation, begged permission to speak with her for a few moments. A few, a very few, 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 ought to have left here before, said Harry. You should indeed, replied Brooks, 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 a young man passionately. A creature as fair and innocent of guvile as one of God's own angels, fluttered between life and death. Oh, who could hope when the distant world to which she was taken, half open 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 sort of 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, that you feel you belong to that bright sphere where so many of the fairest and the best have winged their early flight, and yet to pray amid all of these consolations that you might be restored to those who loved you. These were distractions almost too great to bear. They were mung in 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 turn 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 left here that you might have turned to higher noble pursuits again, pursuits well worthy of you. There is no pursuit more worthy of me, more worthy than the highest nature that exists, that 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 would be pursued only for you to share. Thinking in my daydreams, how I would remind you that in happy moment of many years, 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 staked 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, is it, dear Rose? It is, replied Rose, that you must endeavour to forget me. What was 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, rejoin Rose, but I could say nothing to alter my resolution. It is the duty that I must perform. I owe it a like 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 friend's reason to suspect that I assortedly yielded to your first passion, and fasten 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 reply, Rose, colouring deeply. Then you return my love, said Harry, say that, dear Rose, but say that and soften the bitterness of this hard disappointment. If I could have done so without doing heavy wrong to him, my love to join Rose, I could have. Receive this declaration very differently, said Harry. Do not conceal that from me, at least, Rose. I could, said Rose, say she had a disengaging hand. Why should we prolong this painful interview? Most painful to me and yet productive of lasting happiness, notwithstanding, for it will be happiness to know that I once held the high place in your regard, which I now occupy, and every triumph you achieve in life will animate me with new fortitude and firmness. Farewell, Harry. As we have met today, we meet no more, but in other relations, than those in which this conversation displaced us, we may be long and happily entwined, and may every blessing that the prayers of a true and earnest heart can cool down, with 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, for me, is a brilliant one. All the honors 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 they may hold in scorn, the mother who gave me life, or bring distance or failure on the son of her, who are so well supplied that mother's place. In a word, said the young lady, turning away as her temporary firmness for succor, 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 there approach shall rest alone on me. One more word, Rose, dearest Rose, one more, cried Harry, throwing himself before her. If I had been less, less fortunate than the world would call it, if some obscure and peaceful life had been my destiny. If I had been poor, sick, helpless, was your turn for me then? Or has my probable advancement to riches and honor 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. O Rose, in the name of my ardent and enduring attachment, in the name of all I have suffered for you, and all you do me to undergo. Answer me this one question. And if your lot had been differently cast for joy in 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 block and a 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, my 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 a vow. 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 a hand. I must leave you now indeed. I asked one promise, said Harry, once and only once, 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 repeated, if you will, finally repeat it. I will lay at your feet, whatever station of fortune I may possess. If you still adhere to your present resolution, will not seek by word or act to change it. And let it be so, rejoin, Rose. It is but one paying the more, and by the time I may be enabled to bear it better. She extended her hand again, but the young man called her to his bosom, and in printing one kiss on a beautiful forehead, hurried from the room. End of Chapter 35 Chapter 36 of Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 36 is a very short one, and may appear of no great importance in its place, but 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 mainly joined him and Oliver at the breakfast table. Why, are you not in the same mind or intention two-and-a-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 Loosberg, 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 seaside. Before noon you announced that you were going to do me at the honour of accompanying me, as far as I go, on your road to London. And at night you urged 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 a 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 Meily went away, sir, rejoined Oliver. That's a fine fellow, said the doctor. You should come and see me when you return, but to speak seriously, Harry, has any communication with the great knobs produced this great sudden anxiety on your part to be gone? The great knobs, replied Harry, under which designation I presume you include my most stately uncle, have not communicated with me at all since I've been here, nor at this time of year is it likely that anything would occur to render necessary my immediate attendance among them. Well, said the doctor, you are a career fellow, but of course they will get you into Parliament the election before Christmas, and these sudden shiftings and changes are no bad preparation for your political life. There's something in that good training is always desirable, whether the race be for place, cup or sweepstakes. Harry Meily 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 chase 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 Meily in a low voice, let me speak a word with you. Oliver walked into the window recess to which Mr Meily beckoned him, much surprised at the mixture of sadness and voiceless spirit 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 fortnight or every alternate Monday, to the general post office in London, will you? Oh, certainly, sir, I should be proud to do it, explained Oliver, greatly delighted with the commission. I should like to know how, how my mother and Miss Meily 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. Do you understand me? Oh, quite so, quite, replied Oliver. I would rather you do 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 a worry to her. Will 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. Meily took leave of him with many assurances of his regard and protection. The doctor was in the chase. Giles, who 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 lattice window and jumped into the carriage. Drive on, he cried, hard, fast, full gallop. Nothing short of flying will keep pace with me today. Although I cried the doctor letting down the front glass in a great hurry and shouting to the pestilier, something very short of flying will keep the pace with me dear hear. Jingling and clatterings 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 gazes 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, sapped 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 pencifully at the window, still gazing in the same direction, seemed to tell more of sorrow than of joy. End of Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Of Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens This limberbox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 37, in which the reader may perceive a contrast, not uncommon in matrimonial cases. Mr Bumble sat in the workhouse parlor. His eyes moodily fixed on the cheerless grate, whence, as it was summertime, no brighter gleam proceeded than the reflection of certain sickly rays of the sun, which were sent back from its cold and shining surface. The 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 network, Mr Bumble would heave a deep sigh, while a more gloomy shadow overspread his countings. Mr Bumble was meditating. It might be that the insects brought to mind some painful passage in his own past life. Nor was it Mr Bumble's gloom the only thing that calculated to awake 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 lace 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 old how different, the mighty cocked hat was replaced by a modest round one. Mr Bumble was no longer a beetle. There are some promotions in life, which independent of the more substantial rewards they offer, require a peculiar value and dignity from the coats and waistcoats connected with them. Field Marshall has his uniform, a bishop his silk apron, a counselor his silk gown, a beetle his cocked hat, stripped the bishop of his apron, or the beetle of his hat and lace. Where are they? Men, mere men, dignity and even holiness too. Sometimes there are more questions of coat and waistcoat than some people imagine. Mr Bumble had married Mrs Corney, and was master of the workhouse. Another beetle had come into power, on him the cocked hat, gold lace coat and staff, had all three descended. And tomorrow, two months it was done, said Mr Bumble with a sigh. It seems an 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, it was a vast deal of meaning in the sigh. I sold myself, said Mr Bumble, pursuing the same train of reflection. For six teaspoons, a pair of sugar tongs and a milk pot, with a small quantity of second-hand furniture, and twenty pound in money. I went very reasonable cheap, dirt cheap. Cheap, quite a shrewl voice at Mr Bumble's ear. You'd 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 cold sword, who in perfectly 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 an eye as that, said Mr Bumble for himself, she could stand anything. It is an eye I never knew to fail with paupers. If it fails with her, my power is gone. When there are an exceedingly small expansion of the eye, be sufficient to quell paupers who be lightly fed, and are in no very high condition, or whether the late Mrs Corney, particularly proof against eagle glances, are a matter 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 there at, which sounded as though it were genuine. On hearing this most unexpected sound, Mr Bumble looked first incredulous, and after was amazed, and he relapsed into his former state. And all that he roused himself into his attention was a gain awakened by the voice of his partner. Are you going to sit snoring there all day in quiet, Mrs Bumble? I am going to sit here, as long as I think you're proper man, rejoin, Mr Bumble. And although I was not snoring, I shall snore, gait, 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 man is to command. And what's the prerogative of a woman in the name of goodness? Cried the relict of Mr Corny's disease. To obey, ma'am, thundered Mr Bumble. Your late unfortunate husband should have taught at you, and then perhaps he might have been alive now. I wish he was, poor man. Mrs Bumble, seeing in the glance that the decisive moment had now arrived, and that the blood struck for the Master's ship on one side or other, must be necessarily be final and conclusive. Though sooner heard this allusion to the dead and gone, and 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 into Mr Bumble's soul. His heart was waterproof, like washable beaver hats that improved with rain. His nerves were rendered stouter and more vigorous by showers of tears, which, being tokens of weakness and so far tacit omissions in 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 a strongly conducive to the house. It opens the lungs and washes the countenance, exercises the eyes and softens down the temper, said Mr Bumble. So cry away. As he discharged himself of this presentry, 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 wackishness 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 a trial of the latter mode of proceeding, as Mr Bumble was not long in discovery. 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 around the throat with one hand, inflicted a shower of blows dealt with singular vigor 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 did 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. Take yourself away from here, and she 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 retiring Mr Bumble, making a quicker motion towards the door. I didn't intend to. I'm going my dear, you are so very violent, but 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 Corny in full possession of her field. Mr Bumble was fairly taken by surprise and fairly beaten, yet 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. That is, by no means a disparagement to his character, but 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 other ways, with a view of impressing the reader with just a 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 a meritorious individual 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, hmm, said Mr Bumble, summoning up all his native dignity, these women at least shall continue to respect the prerogative. Hello there, what do you mean by this noise, you huzzies? 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 carring 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 distractively, and a couple of old women at the wash tub who were comparing notes of admiration of 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 so visibly, what business is it of yours, demanded Mrs Bumble again? It is very true, your matron here, my dear, submitted Mr Bumble, but I thought you might be in the way just then. I'll tell you what, Mr Bumble, returners 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 porpers who were tittering together, most rapturously, hesitated for an instant. Mrs Bumble, whose patience broke 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 around and slunk away, and as he reached the door the titteries of the porpers broke into a shrill chuckle of irrepressible delight. It wanted but this. He was degraded in their eyes. He had lost cast and station before the very porpers. He had fallen from all the height and pomp of beadleship to the lowest depth of the most snubbed henpeckery. 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, as far as the parochial workhouse was concerned, and now it was too much. Mr Bumble boxed the ears of a 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 then another, until exercise had abated the passion of his grief. And then the revulsion of feeling made him thirsty. He passed to great many public houses, but at length paused before one in a byway whose parlor, as he gathered from a hasty peep over the plongs, was deserted, safe for one solitary customer. He began to rain heavily at the moment. This determined it. 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 seen by certain haggerness in his look, as well as by the dusty soils on his dress, to have travelled some distance. He eyed Bumble as scant as he entered, but scarcely deigned to nod his head, an acknowledgement 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 a great show of pomp and circumstance. This happened, however, as it will happen very often when men fall into company under such circumstances. But 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 drew 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, were you prepared in at the window? Not that I am aware of, unless you were 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 quite a sarcasm playing about his mouth, or you would have known my name. You don't know it, I would recommend you not ask for it. I meant no harm young man, observed Mr Bumble majestically, and had done none, said the stranger. Another silence succeeded this short dialogue, which was again broken by the stranger. I've 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, parochial 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 interests that you always had. I doubt not, resumed the stranger looking keenly into Mr Bumble's eyes, as he raised them in astonishment with the question. Don't scruple to answer freely, man. I know you pretty well, you see. I suppose that 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 along his penny when he can than a single one. Parochial officers are not so well paid that they can afford to refuse any little extra fee when it comes to their 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, and let it be strong and hot that 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, dryly. The whole smile disappeared, and shortly after was returned, with a steaming joram, of which the first sculpt brought the water into Mr Bumble's eyes. And I listened to me, said the stranger, after closing the door and window. I came down to this place today to find you out, and by one of those chances which the devil throws in the way of his friend sometimes, he 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 I'm willing 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's see, twelve years last winter. That'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 puerling children for the parish to rear, and hid their shame, rot them in the grave. The lying room, I suppose, said Mr Bumble, not quite following the stranger's excited description. Yes, said the stranger, a boy was born there. And many boys observed Mr Bumble shaking his head despondingly. A moraine on the young devil's cry to the stranger. I speak of one, a meek-looking, pale-faced boy, who was a prejudice down here to a coffin-maker. I wish he'd made his coffin and screwed his body in it, and who afterwards ran away to London, he was supposed. What you mean, Oliver? Young twists said Mr Bumble. I remember him, of course. I wasn't an obstinate, a 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 tar raid on the subject at Paul of his 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 mortar 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 rejoin Mr Bumble. The man looked fixedly at him when he had given him 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, without 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, as the occasion on which he had proposed to Mrs Corley, and although that lady had never confided to him the disclosure of when 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. Hasterly calling this circumstance the mind, he informed the stranger with an air of mystery, that a woman who had been closeted with the old Harrod and 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, throwing off his guard and plainly showing that all his fears whatever were aroused were fresh bogged intelligence. Only through me, rejoined Mr Bumble, when cried the stranger hastily. Tomorrow rejoined Bumble. Nine in the evening said the stranger, producing a scrap of paper and writing down upon it, an obscure address by the water side, the 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 his words he led the way to the door, to stop you to pay for the liquor that had been drunk, shortly remarking that their roads were different, he departed. Without more ceremony and an emphatic repetition of the hour of appointment for the following night. On glassing at the address, the parochial function reabsorbed 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. I only had 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. End of Chapter 37 Chapter 38 of Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens This LibriVox recording is in the public domain 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 sluggish mass of vapour, already yielded large drops of rain, and seemed to pressurize a violent thunderstorm, 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 right 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 low ruffians, who under various pretenses of living by their labour subsided 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, here and there, and or a coil of rope, the period at first to indicate that the inhabitants of these miserable cottages pursued some avocation on the river, where the glance at the shattered and useless condition of the articles, thus displayed, would have led a passer-by without much difficulty to the conjecture 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 is up a storey's over hunks, to the large building, formerly used as a manufacturer 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 rotten 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 bendering over the dark stream seemed to wait a favorable 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. "'Hello there,' cried the voice from above. Following the sound, Mr. Bumble raised his head and described a man looking out of the door, breast high on the second storey. "'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 of the enterprise just then, when he was prevented by the appearance of Monk, who opened the 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 virilities and would scarcely any of that remarkable dignity, which was usually his chief characteristic. "'What the devil made you stand lingering there in the wet,' said Monk, turning round and addressing Bumble after he bolted the door behind them. "'We were only cooling ourselves,' stammered Bumble, looking apprehensively about him. "'Cooling yourselves,' retorted Monk, "'but all the rain that ever fell or ever will fall "'will put as much as hell's fire out as a man can carry about with it. "'You won't cool yourself so easily, don't think of it.' "'With this agreeable speech, Monk's turned short upon the matron "'and bent his gaze upon her, till even she, who was not easily cowed, "'was feigned to withdraw her eyes and turn them towards the ground. "'This is the woman, is it?' demanded Monk's. "'That is the woman,' replied Mr. Bumble, mindful of his wife's caution. "'You think women can never keep secrets, I suppose,' said the matron, "'interposing and returning as she spoke, the searching look of Monk's. "'I know they will always keep one till it's found out,' said Monk's. "'And what may that be?' asked the matron. "'Loss of their own good name,' replied Monk's. "'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 she don't, said Monk's. How should you?' "'Bellowing something halfway between a smile and a frown upon his two companions, "'and again beckoning them to follow him, a 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 a warehouse above. "'And a bright flash of lightning streamed down the aperture, "'and a peel of thunder followed that shook the crazy building to its centre. "'Here it, he cried, shrinking back. "'Here it, rolling and crashing on as if it echoed through a thousand cabins, "'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, "'but it was much distorted and discoloured. "'These fits come over me now, and then, said Monk's, 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 shut of the room to which it lay, "'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 Monk's, when they had all three seated themselves. "'The sooner we come to our business, the better for all. "'The woman knows what it is, does she?' "'The question was addressed to Bumble, "'but his wife anticipated the reply, "'but intimating that she was perfectly acquainted with it. "'He is right in saying that you will be this hag the night she died "'and that she told you something. "'About the mother of the boy you named, "'acclived the matron, interrupting him. "'Yes. "'The first question is of what nature was her communication, "'said Monk's. "'That's the second observer woman of much deliberation. "'The first is, what may the communication be worth? "'But the devil can tell that without knowing what kind it is, "'asked Monk's. "'Nobody better than you, I'm persuaded,' answered Mrs. Bumble. "'He did not want for spirit, "'as her yoke fellow could abundantly testify.' "'Hm,' said Monk significantly. "'I'm 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 Monk's, "'something that she wore, something that... "'You had better bid, interrupted, Mrs. Bumble. "'I've 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 "'that he'd originally possessed, "'listen to this dialogue without a stretch neck "'and distended eyes. "'She directed towards his wife, and Monk said, "'by turns, in undisguised astonishment.' "'The increase did possible, "'when the latter suddenly demanded "'what the sum was for the discussion. "'What's it worth to you?' asked the woman, "'as collectively as before. "'Maybe nothing. "'Maybe twenty pounds,' replied Monk's. "'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,' explained Monk's, drawing back. "'We 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 Monk's impatiently, "'and which has been lying dead "'for twelve years past or more. "'Such matters keep well, "'like good wine often double their value "'in course of time,' answered the matron, "'still preserving the resolute indifference you'd assume. "'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 that last. "'What if I pay it for nothing?' asked Monk's, hesitating. "'You can easily take it away again,' replied the matron. "'I am but a woman alone here and unprotected. "'Long 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 parochial persons. "'Mr. Monks is aware that I am not a young man, my dear, "'and also that I am a little run-to-seed, as I may say. "'But he has heard, I say, you have no doubt, "'Mr. Monks has heard, my dear, "'that I am a very determined officer "'with a very uncommon strength, if I am once roused. "'I only want a little rousing, that's all.' "'As Mr. Bumble spoke, "'he made a melancholy faint of grasping his lantern "'with fierce determination, "'and plainly showed by the alarmed expression "'of every feature that he did not want a little rousing, "'and not a little prior to making any very war-like demonstration, "'unless indeed against paupers or other person "'or persons trained down for the purpose.' "'You're a fool,' said Mr. Bumble in reply, "'and it better hold your tongue. "'It better have it cut out before he came, "'if he can't speak in a lower tone,' said Monks grimly. "'So he's your husband, eh?' "'He is my husband, titted the maiden, parrying the question. "'I thought as much when you came in, "'enjoying Monks, marking the angry glance "'which 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 produced a canvas bag, "'told out twenty-five sovereigns on the table "'and pushed him over to the woman. "'Now,' he said, "'gather them up, and when this cursive peel of thunder, "'which I feel is coming up to break over the house, "'stop, it's 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 on the table, "'bent forward to listen to what the woman should say. "'Faces of the three nearly touched as the two men "'let over the small table in the eagerness to hear. "'And the woman also lent forward "'to render her whisper audible. "'The sickly rays of the suspended lantern "'falling directly upon them "'aggravated the pailness and anxiety of their countenances, "'which, encircled by the deeper gloom and darkness, "'look ghastly in the extreme. "'When this woman that we called old Sully died, "'the matron began, she and I were alone. "'Was there no one by-ass Monks in the same hollow whisper? "'No sick, wretch or idiot in some other bed? "'No one who could hear a mite by possibility understand?' "'Not a soul,' replied the woman. "'We were alone. "'I stood alone beside the body when death came over.' "'Good,' said Monks, regarding her tentatively go on. "'She spoke of a young creature, returned the matron, "'and 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. "'I,' said Monks, with a quivering lip of glancing "'over his shoulder. "'Blood, how things come about! "'The child was the one you named to him last night, "'said the matron, not in careless feet of also husband. "'The mother, this nurse, had involved. "'In life, asked Monks, in death,' replied the woman, "'with something like a shudder. "'She stole from the corpse when it hardly turned to one. "'That which the dead mother had prayed her, "'with her last breath, keep it for the infant's sake. "'She sold it, cried, Monks, with desperate eagerness. "'Did she sell it? "'Where and 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 to the woman, "'to all appearance, I moved. "'As Mr. Bumble was very far from being, "'by the strange man's violence. "'But she clutched my gun violently with one hand, "'which was partly closed. "'And when I saw that she was dead, "'and so I removed the hand by force, "'I found it clasped, the scrap of dirty paper. "'Which contained, into post-Monks, stretching forward?' "'Nothing,' replied the woman. "'It was the pawnbroker's duplicate. "'For what ass, Monks?' "'In good time, I'll tell you,' said the woman. "'I judged that she had kept the trinket for some time, "'in the hope of turning it to a better account. "'And then, had pawned it, "'and saved or scraped together the money, "'pay the pawnbroker's interest year by year, "'and prevent it's running out, "'so that if anything came of it, it could still be redeemed. "'Nothing had come of it, "'as I tell you, she died with the scrap of paper "'or worn and tattered in her hand. "'The time was out in two days. "'I thought something might one day come of it, "'and so redeemed the pledge.' "'Where is it now?' asked Monks quickly. "'There,' replied the woman, "'as if glad to be relieved of it, "'she hastily threw it upon the table. "'A small kid bag, scarcely large enough for a French watch, "'which Monks, pousing upon, tore open the 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, "'supremain. "'There's a blank left for the surname, "'and then follows the date, "'which is within a year before the child was born. "'I've found out that.' "'And this is all said, Monks, "'after a close and eager scrutiny "'of the contents of the little pocket. "'All,' replied the woman. "'Mr. Bumble threw a long breath "'as if he was 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 hold of the previous dialogue. "'I know nothing of the story "'beyond what I can guess at, "'said his wife, addressing Monks up for short silence. "'And I want to know nothing, for it's safe or not. "'But I may ask you two questions, may I? "'You may ask, said Monks, for some show of surprise, "'but whether I answer or not is another question, "'which makes three observers to Bumble, "'as saying a stroke of facetiousness. "'Is that what you expected to get from me, "'demanding the maiden? "'It is,' replied Monks, the other question. "'What do you propose to do with it? "'Can it be used against me? "'Never rejoin, Monk, nor against me, either. "'See here, but don't move a step forward, "'or your life is not worth the ball-rush.' "'With these words he suddenly wheeled the table aside "'and pulled an iron ring in the boarding, "'through back a large trap door "'which opened and closed at Mr. Bumble's feet. "'And caused that gentleman to retire several places "'backwards with great precipitation. "'Look down,' said Monks, lowering the length and into the goal. "'Don't fear me, I could have let you down "'quiet enough when you were seated over it, "'that I'd do my game.' "'That's encouraged the matron too near to the brink, "'and even Mr. Bumble himself, "'impelled by curiosity, ventured to do the same. "'The turgid water, swollen by the heavy rain, "'was rushing rapidly on below, "'and all other sounds were lost in the noise "'of its splashing and eddying "'against the green and slimy piles. "'There had once been a water mill beneath, "'the tide firming and chafing around the few lot mistakes, "'the fragments of machinery that yet remained "'seem to dart onward with a new impulse "'when free from the obstacles, "'which had unavailably attempted "'to stem his headlong cause.' "'If you flung a man's body down there, "'where would it be tomorrow morning, "'so the monks were going to land them to and fro in the dark well? "'Twelve miles down the river, "'and cut to pieces beside,' replied Bumble, "'recoiling at the thought. "'Munks drew the little packet from his breast, "'where he had hurriedly thrust it, "'and tying it to a leaden weight, "'which formed part of some pulley "'and was lying on the floor, "'dropped it into the stream. "'It fell straight and true as a die. "'Clothed the water in the scarcity "'and all of them splashed, and was gone. "'The three, looking into each other's faces, "'seem 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 keep its gold silver to itself. "'And that trasher numbed it. "'There was nothing more to say, "'and may break up our pleasant party. "'But my all means observed, Mr. Bumble, with great alacrity. "'And keep a quiet tongue in your head with you, said monks, "'with a threatening look. "'I'm not afraid of your wife. "'You may depend upon me, young man,' answered Mr. Bumble, bowing himself gradually towards the ladder, "'with excessive politeness. "'What everybody's account, young man, on my own, "'you know, Mr. Monks. "'I'm 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 this point, "'but Mr. Bumble, who had bowed himself within six inches of the ladder, "'would have been fallibly a pitch headlong into the room below. "'He lighted his lantern from that which monks had detached from the rope, "'and now carried in his hand in 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 every shadow, "'and Mr. Bumble hauling his lantern afoot above the ground, "'walked not only with remarkable care, "'but with a marvellously light step for a gentleman with his figure, "'looking nervously about in for hidden trap doors, "'the gate of which they entered was softly unfastened "'and opened by monks, merely exchanging a nod "'with their mysterious acquaintance. "'The married couple emerged into the wet with darkness outside. "'They were no sooner gone than monks "'who appeared to entertain invincible repud lengths "'being left alone. "'Call 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 created, "'N. Chapter 38.